The Aftermath: Miracle of Jairus's Daughter
by RuthieGreen
Summary: This is an integration of several vignettes into a single tale for the S9-Finale exploring the unanswered questions & story "holes" around "Commeth the Archer." What happened behind & between the scenes with Eva Pearce, Inspector Brackenreid & George, Isaac Tash, Father Clemens & of course William & Julia? Please R&R - I always appreciate feedback. Enjoy S10 coming soon!
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: This the complete story, "Miracles," exploring the unanswered questions and story "holes" around "Commeth the Archer," S9 finale. What happened behind and between the scenes? This started as a series of vignettes from differing points of view: Eva Pearce (Descent into Hell), Dr. Isaac Tash (Miracles No. 1), Inspector Thomas Brackenreid (Two from No. 4), Julia Ogden (Guardian Angel) and William Murdoch (Jairus's Daughter), and I have sewn them together for a single story with multiple, overlapping points of view. The chapters have been broken down differently in his version and there is a prescient prologue… (so0me dialogue taken from the episode) Thank you Maureen Jennings and the show writers for allowing us to play in your world. Enjoy the prelude to Season 10!**_

 **MIRACLES: JAIRUS'S DAUGHTER**

" _Be not afraid, only believe." Mark 5:36_

 _ **Prologue**_

 _ **PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL:**_

 _ **Excerpts, clinical process recording notes with commentary**_

 _ **Monday October 13, Wednesday October 22, 1902**_

 _ **Office of Dr. Julia Ogden**_

 _ **Toronto Asylum**_

 **Monday October 13, 1902**

 **W: "What is it with murderers wanting to kiss me?"** _Interesting choice of opening question, [W-]. Why indeed?_

 _And what prompted him to ask that in this way? In another context, and with a smile, his question would have been funny. However, I knew he was dead serious. He wanted to explore the connection between two murderers, James Gillies and Eva Pearce with himself, for a clue to break the case and help him catch Miss Pearce, now (theoretically) on the run._

 _I adopted a neutral demeanor since he was asking for my professional assistance and objectivity. I was probably the last person he should be consulting on this in particular, considering I am [related to him]. I eventually agreed that, in this case, discussing with others was going to be impossible. He trusted me, so I acquiesced. I kept my voice low and calm, and my body still despite the pain in my wrist._

I responded:"That was no dream this time, [W-], Eva Pearce made a direct threat to you. Tell me more about your question. What is your concern?"

 _[W-] shifted position and made a face before speaking, indicating nervousness. I have noticed this unconscious habit before. He is more likely to betray this behavior around me, however, indicating trust. Perhaps I can catalogue them for future reference? I might get a monograph out of it…_

 **W: "I do not understand their behavior. It is irrational to risk recapture and incarceration by coming back-why not take advantage of the escape and flee as fast and far away as possible? I understand the motives for most crimes. James Gillies and Eva Pearce made it personal on a whole other level, and I don't know why."**

I responded: "What do you think?"

 **W: "It can't be as simple as revenge, I suppose."** [ _W-_ ] _thought a moment. He tends to take time before speaking, thinking it through? Or dodging?_

 **W: "You told me that knowing more about the victims of crimes can provide information on catching the criminals. I have collected more than one nemesis, if you will. Why? Even the fictional Sherlock Holmes only had** **one** **. Simple revenge would be shooting me from a distance and ending my life, not torturing me. The machinations are confusing and dramatic. Too much like an opera."**

 _Or Penny-dreadful. He does like things logical, neat and tidy; when they are not he gets…itchy._

I responded: **"Go on."**

 **W: "I must have attracted them – something about me got them obsessed with me."** _He has a way about him when he is thinking—I have seen so many times before—middle-distance gaze is part of it_.

 **W:** _ **"**_ **But what? And how can I stop that from happening? And why, for heaven's sake, did they both** _ **kiss**_ **me?"** _He clearly found the notion distasteful._ _He was nearly always self-contained_ _but not always completely self-aware. He also does not seem to appreciate how physically attractive he actually is, but then again, I am aware of my own bias in the matter_ _ **.**_

I responded _:_ "Think about it [W-]. The persona you present to the world is direct, pleasant yet restrained, upright, intelligent, logical, and relatively unemotional. You keep your own counsel, as it were. Only give the smallest clues away. That lets anyone read their own desires between the lines."

I responded:"How did that make you feel when they kissed you?"

 _Despite my best efforts at stillness, I had to adjust in my seat to take pressure off a bruise. [W-] admitting to his feelings was still somewhat foreign territory for him._ _I wondered what he would say and waited._

 **W: "Invaded. Angry. Confused. Disgusted."** _He said this firmly. Good—no equivocation._

 _The his face flushed, a general indication of emotion for him—could be anger or embarrassment._

 _I waited for more, letting the silence lengthen._ _He would not like it when he got there_ , _I guessed. Pressing an advantage he believed to be unwanted was an unnatural inclination for him, and to be on the receiving end of one even more so._

 **W: "I also felt out of control, and to be honest, frightened."** _Excellent! Right into primal emotional territory_

I responded: "And how does that make you feel now?" _He was disconcerted, but had, after all, asked for this consultation._

 **W: "Powerless….I feel utterly powerless."** He was surprised and sat up. **"They both wanted power over me, didn't they?"** He felt on firmer ground all of a sudden. **"But to what end?"**

I responded: "William, what do they accomplish if you are rendered powerless? **"**

 **W: "I will not be as capable of catching them and bringing them to justice, and by laying the seeds of self-doubt, it damages my ability to do my job as a whole-they win even if they are caught. And they enjoy another's suffering for the gratification of putting them through it. That's it, isn't it?!"** He was talking more rapidly now. _Good!_ _I wanted him to keep going with the flow of thoughts._

 _I saw he was starting to feel relieved. It is always a good sign when the analysand loosens up and talks freely_.

I responded:"Yes, [W-] they are both manipulative narcissists. If they undermine your sensibilities, you are at a disadvantage. In their minds, they thought they knew you, and moreover, thought they knew you better than you know yourself. Mr. Gillies and Miss Pearce projected their own fantasies onto you, made up a story about you, created a connection that does not actually exist, and then acted upon it." _[W-] needs facts to process material/information properly._

 _Never underestimate the power of a fantasy, especially in a disturbed mind… for instance the attack on me in Ward –C, or the minds of writers, I suppose…._

 **W: "But, Julia, why kiss me? That seems to imply a…er…sexual motive also."**

 _Oh, dear. He is in deep now. How will he take this part when it all finally sinks in? I believe he is quite comfortable in his own masculinity—he has a healthy ego and does not generally feel threatened. His sexual comfort has expanded as well- he has come a long way in this regard since I have known him._

I responded: "What answer comes to you?"

 **W: "So, more than just trying to throw me off…more than just power or sadism. They felt a sexual connection also? But I never….."** He stopped abruptly, and his eye widened in a stress reaction. _He knows the inexorable pull of desire, and of fantasy. No wonder that where his thoughts were going stopped him cold. He would have catalogues his behaviors and interactions to see if he had been the one to be inappropriate. He always tries to take responsibility._

I responded:"No [W-], you did not give them an invitation to focus on you. The obsession is in the person who is obsessed, not in the object of the obsession. Their ideas about you are much more about them than about you. You had no actual relationship with them. No mutual one at least, beyond your professional duty to apprehend them…." _I offered him more facts._

 _[W-]'s face flushed again here._

I responded:"You offered them a blank canvas upon which to paint their image of who they wanted you to be. I think you provided a kind of intellectual challenge to Gillies. He believed you matched him in cleverness. I believe, perhaps, he wanted to see himself as Moriarty to your Holmes. I also think he never acknowledged his own homosexuality underlying his choices. By kissing you before he jumped over the bridge he revealed himself—not just to you, but to himself."

 _[W-] is familiar now with Herr Doktor Freud's theories on psycho-sexual development. Since his own psychological development is relatively mature, it is hard for him to understand or relate to someone else who uses more pathological or neurotic defenses. If anything, [W-] psychological defenses are the epitome of psychological maturity. Suppression and sublimation, or tolerance are the ones he will use when pressed. The only time he was probably pulled, temporarily, into neuroticism was regarding me…_

 **W: "And Eva Pearce?"** _He was even more alert because Miss Pearce was the current threat._

I responded: "What do you believe?"

 **W: "She knew, somehow, that my subconscious desired her, and is angry that I did not overtly respond to her?"** _He made it a question, still struggling with accepting it or seeking validation?_

I responded:"That is part of it. She also believed no man would, or could, ever turn her down, and that all men will act on aroused passions. That, after all was her forte—to make men unable to command themselves. But you were—are—impervious to her, sorely damaging her ego. This is intolerable to her. She will try to use it in some way, some manipulation. She is obsessed with you _because_ you are impervious and unattainable."

 **W: "So, how to I stop that?"** he demanded, opening his hands.

 _[W-] always wants a concrete problem to solve, the hand gesture reinforces this—he is unconsciously trying to do something to fix this._

I responded:"Oh, William, you cannot stop what someone else thinks or feels." _And of all people, he should know how impossible it is to derail someone's emotions._

I responded:"You will have to accept you _are_ powerless over that. Eva Pearce will expect to use some aspect of your personality against yourself—to put you in a double bind of some kind, or use your reflexive habits to trap you. Or try to split you from me to keep you unstable. Your reaction to what she does tells you more about you than about her."

 _I needed to tread carefully here to allow him to fully open up and get to the heart of the matter._

I responded: "[W-], please lie back down, close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Empty your mind." _I saw him settle back down and do as I asked._

I responded: _After a few breaths, I asked him again,_ "What do you believe? What is there in common between your actions in response to theirs?"

 **W: "Miss Pearce said I chose her over you, and in a sense I did….more interested in catching her than thinking about your welfare. I ran after her when I saw her flee. She taunted me with that."** _I think he is ashamed of this_.

I responded: "Yes, William, go on…"

 **W: "I jumped in the river after Gillies, even when George warned me away from doing so…Even when I warned Gillies he would likely die if he jumped. Gillies said he had nothing to live for…but…I went off the bridge too."**

 _He paused and tried to catch my eye, wanting support again? Validation? As his [s-] or as his analyst? This is why we do not practice on our loved ones._

 **W: "I** **did** **have something to live for -you…** _ **us**_ **."** _I saw it take him a while to calm himself again_ _ **.**_ **"I went after him because he was getting away and I did not want him to get away. It was my duty to stop him,"** _He went rigid at that thought._ **"And I needed to see him ended, for me to believe we were safe… I asked you at the river where I was pulled out- what you would have done in similar circumstances. But you would have done something different, wouldn't you?"**

 _I made sure not to respond, not to insert myself. I have never disclosed what I would have done—and I am quite unlikely ever to do so…_

 **W: "Is that what she will use against me? That I am predictable in that way?"** _He kept looking at me; for confirmation? I did not react. He stopped and then started again._

I responded. "What do you think?" _It really is that simple—just keep asking that same question often enough and you find out the real truth._

 **W: "Yes, and I think that is what is about me that attracted them. That I do not give up until I get to the truth, sometimes no matter the cost. That I cannot help myself—like a hound that sees a rabbit…."** _The look on his face shifted again. I saw the emotions take turns across his face. I also felt a gut reaction—isn't this is exactly what I find so attractive about him as well….?_

 **W: "** **Also that I can be unbending…and that is also the truth, isn't it?"** He sat up slowly, uncurled and flexed his hands, _another unconscious sign._

 _There it is….That must have been difficult for him—but I must say he took it well_.

I responded: "You are in fact predictable. We all are. It is human nature. She is a master manipulator who exploits weaknesses to her advantage. However, for all her innuendo and comments, she really does not know you. And _she does not know that she does not really know you_. That is her flaw. Her obsession with you is a weakness you can exploit."

 _He seemed both encouraged by that, and suspicious about what that would mean._

I responded: "[W-], don't forget, you knew James Gillies well enough to know he was going to kill his hostage anyway. You turned _his_ predictability against _him_." _I kept my voice firm so as not to betray any anxiety_ _ **.**_

I responded: "William—I am going to be the bait again, whether or not you and I want it so. Because _your_ obsession is with _me._ I stood between Gillies and you and I stand between Eva and you. The way to her gratification is to torture you by separating you from me. Every sadistic fantasy she has is likely building towards that end."

 **W: "So, how do I get the power back?"** _Very good William!_ _He was working this out now._

I responded: "By not doing what is expected, at least not when it comes to her."

 **Wednesday October 22, 1902**

I responded: "So, William, did he try and kiss you too?"

 _I supposed I should not have, but I could not help laughing at his outraged expression. He tried to explain his encounter with Terrence Meyers and the resolution of his case, but seemed he was failing to do so effectively._

 **W: "Julia that is… that is…."** _He was unhappy that his I saw humor where he was not sure there was much. He tried to remain stern-visaged and disapproving, but my laughter and the absurdity was starting to infect him too._

 **W: "** **Julia, it is not even remotely funny! Terrence Meyers interfered with my investigation, tried to sabotage my relationship with the inspector, and damaged my reputation…that high-handed, smug…** " _He almost said bastard, before recalling he was with me. His natural inclination is to never swear, but to be honourable and mild, thoughtful and conscientious. He still winces when the inspector launches a ripe quip!_

I responded: "Bastard. Yes, [W-], he is that. But never the less it seems you have collected yet another nemesis. He certainly fits the psychological portrait: he is amoral, ruthless, and self-serving for all he claims to be operating for the greater good." _Exactly the antithesis of his personal character._

 _Note: Is that confirmation of opposites attracting? Must do more research here as well._

I responded:"You know, you also turned that against him. He views you as a worthy opponent and for him to think he owes you, motivated him to agree to your request. I think it is brilliant that you got him to search for and possibly neutralize Miss Pearce for us. It will take someone as subtle and devious as he is to find her, and Terrence Meyers is very capable of cold calculation and manipulation."

 **W: "You forgot mendacity."** He scowled for emphasis.

I responded: "The best part is that Miss Pearce will never see that coming. Mr. Meyers is more manipulative than even she is—she will have met her match in him, I'll wager. She will never expect you to take a back seat. It is completely unlike you to give up control like that…you have successfully attacked her weakness."

 **W:** **"Yes, I thought that was clever too. Inspector Brackenreid inspired me. So, you approve?"**

I responded: "Yes, I think so. I really am glad you got Mr. Meyers to do something about Miss Pearce. Did you know that I was actually considering buying a hand gun and learning to shoot it?"

 **W: "What? Why?"** _William was taken aback, the startled look on his face betraying him._

I responded:"Oh, William, I am never going to be a victim again, I refuse. We are partners working this threat together and I will defend myself and you by any means necessary. That is something else Miss Pearce does not understand."

 **-from** _ **Analysand**_

# # #

 **Chapter 1**

 _ **SOME SUNDAY MORNING**_

 _ **Winter 1903**_

 _ **p. 76 ***E. D. P. *****_

 _ **Dear Diary:**_

 _ **My ears are still ringing-but,**_ _ **oh**_ _ **that was**_ _ **so**_ _ **worth it!**_

 _ **Nothing in my life up to this point, was as thrilling and satisfying as THAT sound. No conquest, no LOVER ever took me to such immediate heights of ecstasy. I trembled, my heart thudding in my chest in triumph, beholding the sight in front of me.**_

 _ **So much blood… simply WONDERFUL!**_

 _ **She**_ _ **came to the door totally unaware and carelessly opened it right up, wrinkling patrician displeasure down her long, pale nose when no cart and tray magically appeared in the hallway bearing breakfast for such a fine lady of leisure. A dowdy, flat chested stick she is, hardly a female curve on her… how pathetically unattractive in the morning light! Really, what an absolute fright!**_ _ **Some**_ _ **people should know better than to show their face without hair & makeup in place, especially when they are getting OLDER? Didn't her mother ever teach her anything about keeping a man? **_

_**And what a dull-witted, gawping expression on her face as I raised the pistol and fired!**_ _ **Then**_ _ **she noticed me…. Oh**_ _ **YES**_ _ **! I saw that perfect moment of recognition I relish—that point when the other person actually sees**_ _ **me**_ _ **for the first time, when the whole world tilts & they are too late to stop the slide. I saw it in HER - the sharp stab of failure & pure terror in her eyes, giving me **__**such**_ _ **delicious pleasure to know I put it there. Failure because she was stupid enough to think she could ever predict**_ _ **me**_ _ **, ever escape**_ _ **me**_ _ **; f**_ _ **ear because she was powerless & knew she was going to DIE at **__**my**_ _ **hands! I took great delight in making sure she knew it was**_ _ **ME.**_ _ **I**_ _ **was getting revenge on her & I**_ _ **was going to**_ _ **WIN!**_

 _ **I was so giddy my finger kept pulling the trigger twice more for good measure.**_

 _ **The only,**_ _ **slightest**_ _ **, hitch in my plan was that**_ _ **My William**_ _ **was in the room with her instead of at Mass where he belonged. Why was he not at Church? I was just standing there for a moment gloating, when I was taken by awkward surprise.**_ _ **He**_ _ **raced out of the doorway & fell to his knees next to her… as if he actually cared about her. What was he DOING there? How did he misread my message to him…the Sweet William flowers on his dinner tray Saturday night? My heart stopped for a moment when he looked right at me, his gorgeous brown eyes taking me in, disguised as I was in a maid's uniform. Then he asked for help! **__**My help!**_

 _ **That was a close call.**_

 _ **I have always been a master at giving others what they wanted to see, wanted to hear. I have been a mimic since I was small & I used to make my mother laugh when I pretended to be someone else…at least she used to laugh **__**before**_ _ **the BASTARD…...**_

 _ **I can change my appearance, attitude, my**_ _ **face**_ _ **even, just by the smallest margin—a gesture, a slant of my head, fling of my shawl, the setting of my mouth & then…. I am someone **__**else**_ _ **. In a hotel that was SO easy. Servants are anonymous & invisible…no one makes eye contact with them & the toffs treat them if they are completely interchangeable…Ideal for my purposes, so dressed as one I could slip around anywhere I wanted. If I looked familiar to anyone at all it was because it was me who handed out newspapers yesterday, brought up linen the day before, head demurely down with a smart curtsey while taking the role so completely & seamlessly I blended into the anaglyptic-pasted wall. **_

_**But when**_ _ **My**_ _ **William took the newspaper yesterday it was**_ _ **very**_ _ **different: I just**_ _ **knew**_ _ **he sensed it was me! A subtle nod, the way he said "thank you" just for my ears, placing the penny**_ _ **just so**_ _ **in my palm, all the while keeping up a distracted pretense for an audience of passersby in the hallway… It sent a shockwave through me, confirming**_ _ **everything**_ _ **I suspected: He**_ _ **has**_ _ **been merely WAITING to be rescued from her clutches. It was the signal he would be ready!**_

 _ **When he sent me to summon help, I realize he was**_ _ **PROTECTING**_ _ **me, giving misdirection away from me as a suspect. What a**_ _ **clever**_ _ **man!**_ _ **My**_ _ **William…such a good actor! I have seen him before, pretending to be upset or annoyed, or pretending to be calm and mild. I always knew he was capable of putting on an act—how else could he have fooled so many people into not seeing the REAL MAN underneath? The man I**_ _ **KNOW**_ _ **is there?**_

 _ **And who would think the young woman flying down the stairs had a small pistol in her pocket, & had done the deed? I even put my hand across my face in mock horror, opening my big eyes so wide as my feet trotted quickly away, looking for all the world as if I would pass out from being overwrought when what I really needed was to hide my excited giggle. **_

_**As soon as I got to the tradesman's entrance, I pressed my back gratefully against the wall & could laugh out loud in glee. In no time I was out the door, sliding a coat over my uniform & exchanging the maid's bun and cap for my own hair and hat, free to stroll down the lane at my leisure. Extraordinary! **_

_**Some part of me knew from the first moment I saw William that he was special. I cannot really explain it—I felt a jolt in me, so intense that I did not immediately understand what it meant, other than leaving me breathless & confused. I had **__**never**_ _ **been confused before by my feelings about a man,**_ _ **any**_ _ **man.**_ _ **MEN**_ _ **are not very complicated & after all they are my specialty. Men are really so easy when you think about it: even the so called best of them are vain, insecure, & greedy. I lure them in, I entice, I seduce, & I flatter or simper, whatever is necessary. Once aroused, I **__**have**_ _ **them: they react in such predicable ways… & anyone who is predictable can be manipulated-don't they know that? It is simple, really, but hard to do very well. And I do it so very, very well. **_

_**I can always tell when a man desires me. I can take a man to his limits, have him beg for release & give or withhold what he thinks he can no longer live without, in exchange for whatever I want. I learned long ago that it never pays to actually let them have me… I have known that since I turned the tables on that BASTARD when I was twelve & it has usually given me a life of luxury…That is once I figured out that a rich man was as easy a target as a poor one—easier perhaps since the rich ones get over-confident & complacent. I read their secrets. I know them better than they know themselves—their weaknesses, their desires ...the ones they whisper only to themselves in their dreams, **__**especially**_ _ **the ones they hide from their so-called friends and bland families... I know what they**_ _ **genuinely**_ _ **crave, particularly the things they try to hide from themselves… I read all about it in those dull and boring psychology books when I was in the asylum, to see if there was something new I needed to know. All rubbish and overblown, I tell you. Why so many big words for something so elemental as sexual desire?**_

 _ **Only I can give men what they truly want, all the while they know nothing about the real me, never care probably, so wrapped up in their selfishness. Serves them right! None of THEM ever picked up on the sheer contempt I have for the silly sods, to be lead around by their pricks….So if they are foolish how is that my fault? If they wanted to keep their money…. or their lives… they should have been more careful. They were just begging for what I have, begging to give things to me—How can I refuse?**_

 _ **But**_ _ **MY William**_ _ **! Ah, he was different somehow. He was never so OBVIOUS as the others. He seemed to challenge me, match wits with me. ME! It was thrilling. I never had that happen to me before— I never felt, well…I never felt anything at all, before. A man might be pleasant or dull, physically attractive or grotesque-it was all the same to me. I was never interested in them, never dreamed about them, was never…aroused by any of them in the slightest, although I can give a good show. I enjoyed the game & the power. **_

_**It never occurred to me I might actually want one…**_

 _ **Until I met**_ _ **My**_ _ **William. He is utterly unlike any man I ever met—so serious, so focused, so buttoned up on the outside. While I am irresistible to men, I found William irresistible to me, while he pretended to be uninterested. I am not sure if it was the first time he looked deeply into my eyes, pushing me so intensely & forcefully that I started to wonder. When we first sparred across that table in the police station, had our back and forth exchange...well it was so surprising to me, so exhilarating! He actually saw ME! **__**Shocking!**_ _ **I dreamed about it for weeks afterwards.**_

 _ **And oh…he tried to hide it, probably as overwhelmed as I was by the magnitude of our attraction. No real man likes to be out of control, at least not at first. Until he gets**_ _ **used**_ _ **to it… As a gentleman, William cannot give into his feelings so easily, & certainly not with that harpy of a wife around. She must have neutered him somehow, my poor lamb… a Pale Ice Queen keeping a robust King in check. There is no other explanation. All that vibrant masculinity, broad shoulders, trim waist & hips, chiseled face—his eyes! All going to waste on a cold, dispassionate fish. If he was happy with her, enjoying the marriage bed as he should, she would have been pregnant long ago. I suspect he is bored with her tepid personality, trapped in a loveless, passionless existence. Or, perhaps she is barren as well as unable to satisfy him... **_

_**She probably never even allowed the marriage to be consummated—why else would he need to adopt a child? She**_ _ **hurt**_ _ **him, hurt**_ _ **my William**_ _ **when he had to give up that child, that sweet little boy, Roland. What can he do? A Catholic may not divorce. But a widower can remarry…**_

 _ **That's when I**_ _ **knew**_ _ **I had to act. To SAVE him!**_

 _ **Just the way I KNEW he protected me today because he has protected me before. Of course, it took me a while to figure it out, like one of those puzzles he likes to solve. I had to turn it over in my mind a hundred times before I got it right… For instance when he cleared me in Jake Barker's murder, or when he had his Inspector steer that Eaton pup away from me…. It was only later I realized that was just my William's way of saving me for himself. And when my attorney pointed out to the crown prosecutor the evidence against me in Worthington's death was all circumstantial, it occurred to me my William might have withheld just a little something…. He was saving me again.**_

 _ **The clincher was at the asylum. He acknowledged our connection: "Miss Pearce, I know that you are as sane as I am. No need to try to convince me otherwise." I remember what he said**_ _ **exactly**_ _ **. He said we were the**_ _ **SAME.**_ _ **And then he chose me over her—ran after me like a hound on a hare. Then we kissed for the very first time! Oh! My mouth tingled, my lips burned! I nearly swooned. He must have felt it too, how could he not? Destiny brought is together. Then my William let me go for the third time, and sacrificed himself by going back to her so I could be on my way... what a brave and selfless thing for him to do for me…. How often did he dream of me, of my kiss?**_

 _ **Oh, how many years I wasted before putting it all together. The wait is almost over!**_

 _ **# # #**_

 _ **LATE SUNDAY MORNING**_

 _ **Toronto General Hospital**_

William Murdoch was staring so intently at the swinging double doors, alert for any indication the grim business was successfully concluded, that he never saw Constable Henry Higgins approaching down the long hospital corridor. He looked up, startled and uncomprehending when the young man tapped him on the shoulder and coughed nervously, then thrust a paper-wrapped bundle at him. The disturbance only briefly caught his attention before his eyes riveted themselves again on the plain doors, beyond which lay his injured wife, Julia, at the mercy of God and her doctors. His hands automatically accepted the parcel, and he forced himself to mumble a vague "Thank you, Henry," through a tight jaw, having no idea what he was giving thanks for. He'd given up pacing and tried to sit down, but was unable to quiet his body or mind, finding himself leaping up whenever he saw a shadow from under the door or glimpsed movement through the small windows, all the while trying to check the time, patting his vest for his watch out of habit and repeatedly finding neither vest nor timepiece. Awareness that none of it was helping did not quell his fears or prevent him from another round of the same manoeuvers. Saying the Rosary gave him only the briefest respite. He was feeling massively out of control in the most unpleasant sort of way imaginable, so he clung to the comfort and familiarity of prayer when he could bend his mind to it.

He tuned the constable out again, set the bundle beside him on the hard bench to look at the doors, once more willing himself to be able to see through them to know what was happening in the surgical theatre beyond, from which he'd been forcefully rejected. He became annoyed when Higgins tapped him again and motioned to the package. "What have you, Henry?" William made himself ask, encompassing everything and nothing in the question. He had no interest in anything except Julia's condition.

"Sir, your clothing…er… a suit. The Inspector sent me over with your extra set of clothing from the Station House, he umm…thought you might need them." The young man appeared embarrassed, which brought William to realize he was, after all, still in a set of blue pyjamas smeared with his wife's blood, in a public hallway. He looked at his hands. An orderly gave him a wet cloth to wipe off most of the gore, but some still stained around his nails. He picked at the rusty marks distractedly.

"What time is it, Henry?" William guessed it has been an hour or more since Julia had arrived at the hospital. He paid no attention to the chill in the hall or the looks of pity from passers-by while he waited. He also paid no attention to the idea he really should wait elsewhere, planting himself firmly to resist being moved along out of the public's view.

"I make it about eleven-fifteen. The inspector and George are….."

William gasped in alarm, cutting Henry off. He had no idea it had been that long! Subjectively it felt like forever, with time crawling by in agonizing slowness, but he assumed it was only his distress that made it seem so. Quick surgeries were the norm for practical purposes—the vagaries of anesthesia and blood loss being the major rationales. If Julia was still in surgery that could not be a good sign. His chest clenched and he felt his skin prickle and become clammy despite the cold air and his under-dressed condition. He closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself and send a silent prayer for strength. He then made his way over to the door and peered in, noticing that the procedure was still underway—no one was cleaning up. He did not want to move from this spot, but on the other hand getting properly dressed might make receiving, whatever the outcome, more bearable. He looked at Henry, who was making every effort to look anywhere but back in his direction. William supposed he did appear ridiculous, and Henry was trying for unusual discretion. He cleared his throat. "Henry, thank you. I will go change. Will you please wait here for me? And come get me if…"

"Of course sir. At once," Henry answered immediately. Satisfied, William gathered his belongings and made off towards an empty water-closet a kind nurse directed him to, after tossing a washrag and towel on top of the bundle. He got hurriedly dressed in the rumpled suit, thankful for his leather grooming kit wrapped inside the clothing. In front of the small mirror, William ran a comb through his dark hair and gave up on getting his chin scraped any better. He barely recognized himself—face puffy, brown eyes gritty and bloodshot. The cold water washed away only the outer dirt and sweat, not his shock. A few hours ago he was happily in bed enjoying the afterglow of marital relations and the delicious expectation of making love again to his wife later on, joking together, agreeing on their future home and family. Everything was perfect, absolutely perfect! Perfect between him and Julia, going well at work for them both, financially stable, socially contented…a future laid out for them along a path that only required them to walk it…

Then out of nowhere: Three loud bangs still echoed sharply in his head. Three shots and Julia's whimper of pain and thud as she hit the floor; the shooter simply vanishing. No one but a chambermaid and other residents in the hallway where she fell… His hands gripped the porcelain washbowl in dread, cold seeping into his gut. _Julia is healthy, strong, she had to pull through._ _Dear Lord! What is taking so long?_ The very idea of losing Julia was impossible, so he forbid himself from entertaining the notion, locking his mind and his intentions on her recovery, trying to stop his nervous system from betraying him.

His emotions governed as well as he could manage, William emerged from the narrow doorway just as one of the doctors pushed through both swinging doors looking exhausted. He recalled the surgeon's name was Carlton. Although to William's estimation he seemed too young, as if he was barely out of college, the doctor was forthright and receptive to the sterilization and hand-washing William insisted upon. Dr. Carlton looked directly at William and came to the point. "Mr. Murdoch, we were able to find and remove all the bullets, and repair a small tear in her bowel. We have given her mercury for infection and laudanum for pain. She was lucky: the shots were not through and through, the only debris in the wound was from her silk and linen robes."

William felt his face re-form into a smile and his shoulders relax. When Dr. Carlton did not smile back, the sense of fear crept back in. "Doctor, what are you not saying?" He braced himself and held his breath.

Carlton came forward and put a hand on his arm. "Your wife is still in grave condition. You have to understand the procedure was unusually lengthy and there can be…complications. She remains unconscious, and we have to monitor for infection. I suggest you go to her room and we will be bringing her along. Dr. Maharris will speak with you presently."

William exhaled, hoping to tamp down the rough quaver in his voice. "Doctor, I am going to need those bullets." He saw the doctor's face register surprise and then disgust at such an outrageous request. Before there could be an argument or objection, he explained. "I am a police detective with the Toronto Constabulary. Those bullets are evidence in a crime and we will need them for examination. Please secure them, and give them to my constable." He gestured to Higgins who nodded in agreement.

 _There,_ he thought, _one thing I can do something about_.

# # #

 _ **LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON**_

William was grateful Inspector Brackenreid had already summoned a constable to stand guard outside the private room where his wife was resting; it seemed wise to assume there was still danger afoot and that protection left him free to concentrate on Julia. He brought a chair as close as possible to her bedside to hold her hand so she would know he was there the instant she awoke.

He lightly stroked her arm, gazing at her face, noticing the arch of her brow and curve of her lips, a few freckles at her temple. But this was not at all the pleasure of watching her as they lay together, her head resting on his shoulder or with blonde hair arrayed on her pillow while he kissed her gently into wakefulness. She appeared to be so uncharacteristically small and fragile, her normally fair colouring drained away, leaving her tissue-paper white. He was almost afraid to touch her for fear she would tear or shatter. William had never, _ever_ , seen Julia in such fixed repose, as she was usually in constant motion, restless even in sleep.

He searched her face closely for any sign she was coming around. He had been so sure the transfusion would be successful, be the miracle she needed to regain her senses, that to see her so still for so long was unnerving. He imagined his life-force could revive her, and prayed God that it was going to be true. He often felt joy or contentment in the practice of his faith, and imagined that sensation flowed from him to Julia with his blood. ' _You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar..._ ' The rhythm of prayer passed the time well and he half expected her to open her blue eyes and smile at him, finishing the words of the verse. Instead, it appeared as if nothing happened. Nothing happened at all, despite the doctor's assessment that Julia's heart rate and temperature were normal again.

" _ **I fear she may never wake."**_ Dr. Maharris' pessimistic words landed like a gut punch and made William very angry, _It was much too soon for such pronouncements,_ he thought. _It has only been…has it been ten hours?!_ He looked again at Julia. Saving her life with a transfusion was not the same as a full recovery. The doctor gave no estimate at all when she would wake up, and then cautioned him on any number of complications to expect, including brain damage that could alter her mentally or physically. ' _Coma_ ,' he learned, was the proper term. In so many words, Dr. Maharris told him to accept the idea that Julia was not going to come back, that the spirit which animated her may already be gone. William refused to accept this, shedding being frightened, and embracing the anger instead.

Father Clemens' visit lifted his own spirits immensely. He arrived just as Dr. Maharris was leaving, giving William the opportunity for a pause in his vigil to receive the priest's blessing. The Father had been impressed with the transfusion method, making a comment about science catching up with Christ's gift of his own precious blood. William confided to him frustration with the doctors' gloomy attitude, limited vision and lack of faith, as well as that he was not so sure the doctors were all that caught-up with the latest scientific literature or methods.

Never-the-less, his conversation with Father Clemens helped William turn away from grief or despair and got him thinking in another direction entirely, encouraging him to figure something out that will help Julia. That gave him the impetus to talk soothingly to Julia, telling her he was right by her side and that everything was going to be all right, because, after all, it _had_ to be.

One thing for certain was that he was never going to give up on her. _I may have been momentarily paralyzed with shock, but that is over, now_. This was a problem to be solved like any other, and William Murdoch was a master problem-solver. The first problem, now that Julia was a pace or two removed from death's door, was in figuring out who shot her and capturing whomever it was before he could finish the job. He was listing the possibilities when he was summoned to Wilton Street to have his official statement taken.

# # #

 _ **SUNDAY EVENING**_

 _ **Station House No. 4**_

The Station House was surprisingly quiet, which suited William just as well; he wanted no one's worried looks or uncomfortable, well-meaning comments. The only one remaining on duty was the desk Sargent, Parker. Constables were out on assignments searching for other witnesses and clues. George Crabtree had the bullets and was going to set up any comparisons to a weapon, should one be found.

William had just finished the second part of his witness interview with Inspector Brackenreid, his mind spinning through a long list of possible assailants. A witness came forward saying someone was looking specifically for Julia. The uncomfortable conclusion was that Julia _did_ appear to be the intended target, so it was reasonable to assume that it was someone from her work at the asylum or with the coroner's office. William slapped his hand on the table. Julia _must_ have seen who shot her. He wracked his brain again to see if he could match the face of the suspect to a name or case—and came up blank. Later on he'd have to check Julia's personal records at home; the ones from the asylum were being delivered Monday morning. He had a fleeting recollection of _something_ or _someone_ playing at the edges of his awareness, but it refused to be pinned down.

He was guarded against giving in to his feelings, needing at least the outward semblance of calmness and competency, clinging to the hope that Julia would recover. Hope was all he needed; in truth all he had, but it had sustained him before and would do so now, God willing. Drinking tea and eating a meal provided by Mrs. Brackenreid, his mind kept travelling back to Julia, lying motionless in her hospital room, overseen by the young female parishioner who had accompanied Father Clemens. Mademoiselle DuBuisson seemed devout and sensible enough, promising to contact the station house immediately should anything change in his wife's condition, which allowed him to, reluctantly, leave Julia's side. Alone in his office with only the desk Sargent, on duty, he was able to focus, knowing that his greatest gift was his intellect and he needed to insulate himself against distractions from his devotion to bring Julia through all of this safely.

William concentrated on the evidence until his head ached, when he had a sudden, awful thought: _Leslie Garland!_ Just because the man had theoretically slunk south, back to Buffalo, did not mean he gave up on revenge. _Shooting Julia would be consistent with that,_ he thought with an angry flare. Without consulting with the Inspector, William placed a call to the Buffalo Police Headquarters, begging and receiving a professional courtesy to discretely locate the whereabouts of Mr. Garland, and obtain the knowledge if he possessed a .22 calibre revolver, with a promise from the Buffalo police of a call back within a day. After he hung up, he thought that if Leslie Garland was involved, the man was too much of a coward to have pulled the trigger himself, and may have paid someone to do his dirty work. He left a note for the Inspector to investigate that angle in the morning, and a follow up call about Mr. Garland's bank account to see if there had been any unusual withdrawals.

An hour of flipping through old record books and notes brought him no closer to an answer, since the best witness to who shot her was currently lying senseless in the hospital… William's eyes stopped their tracking of the pages and captured his memory of Julia in her hospital bed, then felt a shiver of current shoot through him.

 _Julia was unresponsive. Or_ _ **was**_ _she?_

Suddenly, William was energized, his mind buzzing. He and Julia recently read an English translation of Polish scientist Adolf Beck's collected papers on electrical activity in brains, discussing the philosophical notion of where the brain and mind intersected. Julia has been interested in Beck's discussion of dreams…His heart raced forward a notch. What if he could not only prove that Julia's brain was working, but that her mind was intact as well? He sat bolt up-right. Excitedly, William rummaged into his compendium of _British Medical Journals_ and found the references to Richard Caton's work he was looking for.

"Julia!" he said out loud to the empty office, clapping his hand together. "We are going to make a device that will allow you to communicate with me…with us." He smiled for the first time since this morning. "You know how you are always teasing me about my fondness for electricity and electrical devices? Well, I am about to custom-make one just for you." He pulled out paper, pencil and ruler, beginning to sketch out the circuitry. "We are going to start with the theory that it is possible to detect and measure slight differences in voltage and then translate that into a signal which can be read….."

# # #

 _ **EARLY MONDAY MORNING**_

 _ **Station House No. 4**_

" _Murdoch!_ What is going on here?"

The question sailed across the bull pen. Inspector Brackenreid arrived early and was fiddling in the early morning sunshine at his desk, with growing annoyance. "And what's wrong with the bloody lights?"

It _was_ a logical, reasonable question… just not one William was prepared to answer at the moment. He was exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. He'd worked through the night, stopping only for some of Sargent Parker's tea and a brief run to the University to raid a laboratory for a special tool he needed, leaving five dollars and an apology under a beaker.

William spoke with Julia all night long as if she was right beside him, participating in each step from concept to execution. He found it helped him to imagine she was responding, including her offering him suggestions when he got stuck, making a running commentary to himself as he worked. Parker poked his head in only once, then merely shrugged, well-acquainted with his eccentricities—it was not the first time he worked all night or constructed odd items out of bits of this or that. Looking around at the mess, William could well-imagine Inspector Brackenreid's displeasure at his station house being turned into a pseudo workshop, what with the wires and sawdust and the smell of solder spilling out from his own office into the common areas of the bull pen. He supposed in his rush and enthusiasm he was not as tidy as he usually was, nor as discrete in keeping his personal experiments and activities hidden from his superior.

He also hoped to have been gone by now and was only packing up his device for a return trip to Toronto General as Brackenreid arrived. He hesitated to answer the inspector's question and decided an explanation would take too long, as he was so eager to get going to try out his invention. It was only slightly worrying that he'd had no word from the hospital all night, trusting that meant Julia was in no distress and her status was unchanged. _At least unchanged for the worse_ , he reminded himself. Grabbing his coat and hat, he hoisted the oil-cloth wrapped box over which he'd tinkered all night. He put on a pleasant tone, ignoring all the questions, spoken and unspoken _._ "Good morning, Inspector. I am off to the hospital again." He patted the box that Brackenreid was eying suspiciously. "Sir, there are notes on your desk, and you may want to pull the blinds open…"

With that William made his escape, leaving Sargent Parker with the job of explaining about all the light bulbs…..

# # #

 _ **p. 82 ***E. D. P. *****_

 _ **Dear Diary:**_

 _ **I cannot wait for us to be with each other. I have many skills for pleasuring a man. All the other men before him were just husks I used to refine my art. William will find there is**_ _ **nothing**_ _ **I will not do to bring him to his knees in burning lust, begging for me to take him in… & losing his mind when I do. **_

_**She was never right for him. She must have trapped him into marriage—who better than I would understand the wiles of women. She must have some horrid hold over him. With**_ _ **her**_ _ **out of the way**_ _ **we**_ _ **can be together the way destiny has proclaimed & I will show him what **__**real**_ _ **love is. It is I, the Red Queen who will unleash his potential as a man & I who will enjoy his boundless gratitude for liberating him. **_

_**One part down with only a minor irritant to resolve: there still appears to be life in The Ogden, that tiresome wretch. I will wait here in my room opposite William's hotel using my little spyglass to good effect, until he comes back to his suite, & I will pay a little visit to the hospital.**_

 _ **Then, Dear Diary, I just have to get him out of Toronto…**_

 _ **# # #**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _ **LATER MONDAY**_

 _ **Toronto General Hospital**_

" **Get out.** _ **GET**_ _ **OUT**_ _ **!"**_ William roughly shoved the doctor away from him, the only thing stopping him from coming to blows with the man was the fact he was more concerned about not disturbing Julia than venting his considerable outrage. He was vaguely aware his behaviour might shockthose who were used to his milder side…and he could have cared less. _That man is an idiot!_ He fumed to himself. _If he does not believe she will recover, then he is not the doctor she needs._ It took everything in him to calm down and refocus. _I_ _know_ _Julia can hear me, I_ _know_ _this device works, and I will not let anyone tell me otherwise. This is Julia they are talking about! I certainly will not let Julia hear anything to the contrary_ _ **!**_

He brought his attention back to her, gently taking her hand again, speaking softly, entreatingly. **"You are going to come through this, Julia. You** _ **have**_ **to. And when you do, we are going to start our family. Somewhere, out there, there's a child who is going to be very lucky to have you as their mother."** He assured himself the position of the electrical sensing nodes on Julia's head were properly aligned, and the connections were in place. He spoke directly to her, willing her to hear and respond. **"Let's start again, shall we?"** he asked. **"Julia, do you know that I'm here?"** He felt the emotion swell in his throat, his voice threatening to crack, and he worked to keep his tone even and warm. At the moment his entire being was locked on her, pushing awareness of the other people in the room to a tiny periphery of his mind. Only Julia mattered…only reaching her again… **"Julia, do you know that I love you?"**

The device was not registering, nothing was lighting up. A fraction of desperation coloured his voice. **"Julia, can you hear me? Please! Do something."** He searched her face, squeezed her hand harder, then backed off, fearful of hurting her. Distress turned rapidly to anger again at another absurd comment, this time from Inspector Brackenreid. William launched himself at his superior. **"She's not dead!"** he shouted, nearly pulled Brackenreid off his feet. William's head felt full, his face felt hot.

Inspector Brackenreid's voice cut through his aggravation. **"Go home. Let the doctor do his job."**

 _If only the doctor_ _would_ _do his job,_ he thought. _If only he knew_ _how_ _to…_ William ground his teeth to answer. **"Her heart is still beating, and I know she can hear me. And she needs to know I am here for her…"**

" **She does."** Brackenreid was reassuring, and looked carefully at the device. William knew his superior was likely counting the station house's lightbulbs without seeming to mind this was where they had all disappeared to. **"What is it that your machine can do?"**

" **It registers brain activity…."** He rummaged in his own brain for answers **.** _I was sure,_ _so_ _sure it would work..._ he thought disappointedly. He retraced the circuitry and connections in his mind's eye, looking for where it must have gone wrong. _Perhaps I was too tired at the end and my assembly was off…I wonder if I can adjust it here or does it needed to be taken back to my workbench…_ Then he saw the lights flicker, and his eyes snapped back in delight. **"It's working! Julia? Julia…Julia? Julia, can you hear me?"** When the bank of lights glowed he thought his heart was going to jump out of his ribs. _Yes! Oh, yes! Julia…_ A giddy laugh bubbled up from his chest. **"Julia, the shooter…did you see the shooter? Do you know him?"**

The lights glowed again. **"She can hear you, but we don't know what she is thinking."**

 _She's in there! Thank God!_ He felt immediately validated.

" **Yes I know,"** he answered dismissively. _That doesn't matter, we can find a way, together we always_ _do_ _ **…"**_ **Julia, was it one of your patients from the asylum?"** Another glow and the device lit up. _Excellent!_

William was finding it hard to keep excitement out of his speech. He planned to use deductive reasoning and the principle of asking Yes/No questions found in a common parlour game, breaking the questions up onto the smallest logical pieces and asking them one at a time, by which method he hoped to zero in on the culprit who shot Julia. Mathematically, he knew if he chose the right questions he could literally manage more than a million possible choices, winnowing it down to a handful or less of clues or suspects. Julia had made him play the game with her one evening as entertainment, but he became fascinated with the scientific underpinnings and read up on M. T. Walsworth from the 1880's and C.S. Peirce from 1901.

Knowing Julia was aware left William empty-headed with joy, his carefully crafted list of questions set aside. _Please don't leave me, not now,_ was all he could think. He calmed himself again with great effort, concentrating on the task at hand. **"Alright. Were you able to…?"** The glow faded, pulling William's hopes down with it. **"Julia? Julia! Stay with me. Can you hear me?"**

He allowed the doctor to monitor her, tell him her pulse was still strong. **"Julia?"** _Dear Lord, answer me,_ " **Julia?"** William heard the doctor suggesting he allow Julia to rest, as if the words came from a great distance. He ignored them.

" **Julia…can you hear me? Julia?... Please come back—stay with me."** His heart was pounding again. " _ **Stay!"**_ he heard himself beg. The device registered nothing, there was no glow and Julia had not stirred a muscle the whole time. He suddenly felt guilty. _Perhaps I am taxing her when she needs all her energy_ _to heal, what kind of horrible person am I for not considering that?_. He noticed the Inspector was trying to pull him away, and felt exhaustion overtaking him.

" **Come on, me old mucker. Let her rest."** Brackenreid chided him. "I will keep someone outside her door, er…just in case." William felt a chill. For a moment he'd forgotten there was more potential threat to Julia's life than her current medical condition.

William looked again at his wife, hating to leave her side in case she would wake up frightened and alone. He checked the time, shocked at the hour. _Where did the morning go?_ _Was it really no more than 30 hours since this nightmare began?_ He glanced over at his wife, seeing her colour did look a little better and her breathing was regular. He thought as well about what they learned from Julia. _It_ _was_ _someone from the asylum she says shot her; hopefully that will focus the search for suspects, and I can look through her papers, compare them with the psychiatric records, and we can try again later with better questions._ That idea was enough to persuade him Julia was better served by him leaving, if only temporarily. He gazed at her tenderly, hoping he was doing the right thing. _If the power of love, alone, could bring her around_ , he believed, _it would have happened already._

William hesitated briefly, then surrendered. **"Rest. I love you,"** he offered her, trusting she could hear him or be aware of their connection.

Outside in the corridor, William sagged for a moment against a wall, observing Father Clemens in his sober black cassock, and a fellow parishioner from St. Paul's, Mademoiselle DuBuisson, in an equally severe grey dress and apron, stand and approach him and the inspector.

"William? How is she?" the priest asked gently, making eye contact with him.

To William, Father Clemens appeared so calm and solid. He thought it was a blessing the priest was here for support, and hoped for an opportunity for a private conversation with him. He exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts. "She is alive, resting and, if my experiment is any indication, she is aware…still in her mind. But she is not talking, not really awake." William brought his shoulders back, refusing to betray any lack of confidence. "I am hopeful, given enough time, she will come around." He paused, and flashed a weak smile. "Forgive my manners. Thank you both. It is good for you to have come."

"Of course, William…of course." Father Clemens shook his head as he placed a hand briefly on William's shoulder.

William turned to Brackenreid. "Inspector, since Julia says that it was someone from the asylum who shot her, we should move the lads off of the criminal cases and over to concentrate on those records."

Father Clemens' eyebrows rose quizzically, clearly confused at the idea Julia said anything at all, while Brackenreid only nodded and spoke. "The files came over this morning and have been sorted. I asked one of Dr. Ogden's nurses to come in and see if she could identify specific patients that stand out as a problem. So far we have about a dozen possibilities…I am sure there will be more to come." He exhaled sharply. "I just wish we had a witness to the shooting," he said in frustration, his ruddy complexion flaring. "No one saw anyone in the hallway, Murdoch, er…no one at all, but you…"

William tortured himself with this, finding it strange his well-regarded visual memory produced nothing to go on—only a vaguely unsettled sensation, useless for the investigation. He frowned, hearing the concern in the inspector's tone. "Unfortunately I saw nothing. How did the shooter just disappear like that? I don't understand how he got away." He rubbed his forehead in disgust. "There was no time and nowhere for him to go besides down the corridor. If there had been an open window opposite our doorway I would have said the shooter was from the building across the street. No one was there!" The puzzle was vexing, no matter how he turned it over in his head. He stretched his neck and shoulders, hoping that loosening those would loosen his mind as well as his body, feeling the effects of hunching for hours over a workbench. He saw the inspector smile at him in sympathy.

"Get some sleep, Murdoch. My guess is you worked all night and except for my wife's cooking you haven't had anything to eat. We need you in top form for all of this, especially if you are going to try to communicate with her again in the morning." The inspector tipped his hat to Father Clemens and Miss DuBuisson. "I am taking Murdoch home. I assume you are going to wait here?"

William was indeed exhausted, all the while his brain whirred with the next tasks that needed doing. He looked to Father Clemens but he heard the young woman answer. "Monsieur Murdoch, I will stay with Madame. I will pray for her."

William was touched by the offer. "Merci, Mademoiselle. I will be back in a few hours." He thanked her sincerely, folding her small hand between his. "Please let me know immediately if anything in my wife's condition changes, will you?" He was indeed grateful Julia would be competently attended.

He looked around and noticed his outer garments were still in Julia's room. William opened the door for Belle and found his coat, giving one last, longing look towards Julia before joining the other men in the hall. His tired mind did a rapid assessment of the quickest way to come up with a new set of questions to ask Julia. "Inspector, if you please. Have George cross reference the list of suspects from the asylum with any criminal arrests, disorderly conduct, domestic disturbances, and the like? I will search Julia's papers at home to see if she has had any threatening letters and then we can compare those lists of possible suspects. Then have the men look to see who is deceased, jailed, perhaps invalided? We need to have the list whittled down even more so I can construct the next interview for Julia."

If his superior was annoyed at being told what to do by a subordinate, or skeptical about the idea of asking a comatose woman "questions," it didn't show. William hoped that was because his superior trusted him and not because he was being silently patronized. He looked closely at the inspector, but Brackenreid merely nodded again and settled his hat and scarf on, accepting everything at face value.

"Come along then, Murdoch," he gestured with a kindly burr in his voice. "Let's get you home. We'll call for a police carriage…"

William imagined being 'home': two rooms in a hotel, without the warmth of Mrs. Kitchen's boarding house. _The only thing that ever made it feel like a home for me was because Julia sleeps with me there every night. Absent Julia, it is shelter, but hardly home…._

William squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly fighting tears. _Julia, you have to come back to me._ He coughed to cover up his emotional display, inhaling deeply then letting go. "If it is all right with you, I'd like to speak with Father Clemens before I go. I will return to the station house in, say three hours? That should give me enough time to look through Julia's private papers and for George and the lads to do a background search on the individuals you have already identified."

Brackenreid chuckled. "Detective. It is going to take us a wee bit more than three hours to do all you want us to. Before you head home, come by the station house and pick up the material we have assembled for you so far, then how about George will call you when he has the additional information you want?"

# # #

Toronto General Hospital's imposing white brick edifice, adorned with five stone towers, was designed by an architect named Mr. Hay. William did not know if Mr. Hay also designed the chapel; if the space was pleasingly proportioned or well-furnished was not something he regarded at present, only that it was quiet and empty. William's footfalls matched the priest's step for step as they sought a pew to sit. He had to restrain his hand from automatically blessing himself or genuflecting in the aisle, which just reinforced to him how tired he probably was.

"William. William?" Father Clemens nudged him. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

William allowed a sigh, finding he was unable to fill the room with words—none came to him that he could push up his throat and out of his dry mouth. His thoughts allowed no direction but one: _Julia is still asleep, and perhaps still in danger. I have to find the strength to keep going._ He licked his lips, trying to decide if he needed the consolation of his friend, Joseph, or the bulwark of his priest. Older, well-engrained habits prevailed.

"Bless me Father. I wanted to ask you to watch over Julia…and pray for me…" He hesitated. "For us…"

"And so I will," the priest said clearly. "I imagine you have other concerns. Do you need the confessional?"

"No, Father. Later, of course. Now I merely…" William was not absolutely sure what he wanted to say or talk about, just that he wanted to have a brief respite from effort and to vent his feelings. He chose some of what was disturbing him most. "I have been having trouble saying my rosary. I, um… I am having trouble finding it within me to say the Our Fathers…to forgive whomever did this to Julia. I am angry at the doctors who seem to want to give up on her." He took a breath to steady his voice, a thread of shame in it. "I am angry at myself for feeing relieved that it was someone connected to the asylum that did this to her and not someone associated with her work with the constabulary…" He swallowed again. "Or with me…" he admitted. William believed it would destroy him if Julia was lying near death because some unbalanced person was seeking revenge on him and using her to get it. He shivered to banish that haunting, gesturing with a hand as if to ward off evil. "It seems I am just…angry." Scrubbing his face he looked up, unable to name his underlying anxiety. His companion took a long minute to respond, causing William to fidget.

"William, may I remind you that forgiveness is a process? Perhaps Divine absolution is more than you can reach for at the moment..." Father Clemens delivered his observation with a lick of humour to soften the prod of his message.

William accepted the rebuke, and the wisdom, uncertain he could focus his emotions in the necessary way. "I am concerned my anger will cloud my judgement. It, er… would not be the first time, and right now it is very important, for Julia's sake, that my mind is clear."

"I may not be a psychiatrist like your wife, but is it not true that anger sometimes covers up fear?" He waited for William to nod before continuing. "Perhaps you are just a man who is fearful for his wife's safety, but instead of frozen in fear, you can use your righteous anger as a source of energy to solve this terrible crime and bring her assailant to justice."

William perked up, as the priest continued. "The lesson in the Gospel of Mark, chapter five, is to set emotions, fear in particular, aside and just believe. Believe in God William, can you do that?"

"Yes, Father." William's heart lifted, a little of that nagging feeling unwinding from his shoulders. He had no trouble recalling the story from those verses, his hopefulness rebounding. He sat up straighter, adding: "And Mark, chapter ten, 'For all things are possible with God,'" he said, finding an even, strong voice. "Thank you, Father. I think I will be able to do my duty."

# # #

 **MONDAY EVENING**

 _ **Windsor Hotel**_

A winter evening was rapidly approaching as William alighted from his cab and took narrow wooden steps into the tradesman's entrance of the Windsor Hotel, the smells of cooking hitting his nose and warmth from the ovens enveloping him. On his way through the kitchen, William declined an offer of a full meal, but asked for tea to be delivered at regular intervals, grabbing some bread and cheese instead. Hauling a case full of papers over his shoulder, he accepted a sheaf of messages the desk clerk entrusted to one of the cooks, allowing him to go up the back stairway to his rooms without encountering any newspaper men or curiosity seekers. William was grateful for the anonymity, shuddering deeply at the idea of having to explain anything to the press; he was happy to leave that to the Inspector.

He trudged up to the third floor, hesitating for a moment on the stairs, unsure of what he would find, then found some courage, making himself turn the corner and walk forward. Fortunately the carpet runner had been removed so no evidence of blood remained outside his and Julia's doorway. _Oh, Julia…_ He paused again in the hallway, shutting his eyes as if that could erase the memory of Julia lying there; but like an after- image of lightening, the doppelganger lingered. He walked over the space where she had lain suppressing a shudder, throwing the suite door open. Once over the threshold he absorbed the silence within, walking a few paces to hang up his coat and hat. He was often home alone; this time he also felt bitterly lonely, knowing Julia was not going to be joining him any time soon. He closed his eyes again and sent a prayer: _Please God, that is only temporary._ To his right, the French doors to their bedroom were ajar, exposing his scale model of the house he created for himself and Julia to live in. _With our son or daughter…._

He stopped himself abruptly. _I will not give in to anything maudlin._ Since it was too painful to look there, he pivoted left towards the sitting room. The first thing he did was put a call into Dr. Tash's office, then emptied the papers he brought from the station house onto his desk along with his snack. William removed his jacket and tugged at his vest, preparing himself for the long haul, knowing he had to eat for strength despite having no appetite. His eyes rested briefly on one of their wedding photographs: _I look so proud, and she looks so very lovely by my side._ He swallowed and blinked back fresh tears that threatened to erupt. _I cannot lose her, not again…_ William straightened his shoulders and took up Julia's correspondence with the help of his reading lamp, and got to work, with only one thought:

 _Julia needs me…_

# # #

 _ **p. 83 ***E. D. P.**_

 _ **Dear Diary…**_

 _ **Well, THAT was interesting. I had hoped to be the one who personally snuffed out The Ogden's miserable existence—I was thinking smothering or even strangling actually, but that busy-body French woman was hovering. I did not expect anyone to be there to bother me, after getting rid of the constable outside the hospital room door. To my surprise this woman would not budge. At first I thought perhaps she was a nurse and would leave soon after doing her task, but it turned out she was some sort of church lady or nun or something, sent to watch over The Ogden's soul—as if that would make any difference! I just could not get her out of the room, no matter how much charm I used. I am not as good at charming women as I am their men… The good news is she told me the end was near— No last minute miracle is going to save her life. Marvelous! No one expects The Ogden to live. I don't care about killing her while she is in a coma and not aware of the death approaching. Where would the fun be in that?**_

 _ **So I am on to phase two: I have that dolt of a hotel porter convinced I am a spy in His Majesty's service, executing a daring rescue of the brave & valuable Detective Murdoch who needs to be spirited away from the hotel in a secret way that has to look like it was against his will so he can deny involvement in it…to protect his "cover". Idiot! The porter was so very simple to convince that I had to laugh.**_

 _ **I learned a thing or two from that tall, dark haired, oily Tommy Masters that William sent to find me, him and his strong cigars and bushy eye brows over flat back eyes—(I know**_ **those** _ **kind of eyes…) It was**_ _ **so**_ _ **thoughtful of William to check up on me like that-make sure I was safe & doing well, even if he could not contact me himself. I always knew when someone was gaining on me… I would sense someone stalking me, circling, asking too many question… I was always able to dance away before getting caught.**_

 _ **It took me a while before I realized it was my William searching for me…never letting go of me… always hoping I would return.**_ _ **Besides**_ _ **, I**_ _ **was**_ _ **the last women he really ever**_ _ **really**_ _ **kissed, and once his lips touched mine he could never go back. It became rather exciting to guess who he sent and what they were up to. It DID surprise me William would choose such a …predatory individual as Mr. Masters, but perhaps that was supposed to be part of the fun, sending him to me as a sort of present to sharpen my wits.**_

 _ **I did not even mind that Mr. Masters engaged me in helping to blackmail the Honourable Dr. Sheard into meeting with him. I don't know what he hoped to gain from that lump of a man, but Mr. Master's was absolutely correct that Charles Sheard has a weakness for a pretty face and long legs. Even so, I knew better than to stick around & get my promised reward—even if William trusts the man (I don't think his real name **__**was**_ _ **Tommy Masters. I'll bet he operates under many different personas.) But I learned something more valuable than the promised reward: That the larger the lie, the more outlandish the tale, makes some people just suspend disbelief out of a desire for it to BE true. I always thought the lies needed to be subtle, disarming,**_ _ **plausible**_ _ **even… but Mr. Master's –or whomever he really is—showed me that people will fall for anything if they really,**_ _ **really**_ _ **want to, making them complicit in their own undoing!**_

 _ **I will not be writing for a while. The porter just gave me his signal that he gave the drugged tea to William and it has worked—pulling the window shade up and down twice to let me know William is fast asleep. I am abandoning this room and will meet the porter with another note before arranging to claim William for my own. Lately I have been dreaming of William, fantasizing about him making love to me...I can actually feel something when I imagine him sliding into me—**_ _ **that**_ _ **certainly never happened before! More proof that fate brought us together.**_

 _ **I have everything arranged. The Constabulary is called off—just saw them leaving by the front door—and I have a horse and cart stashed by the tradesman's entrance. Once the porter helps me put William in, he will go his way and I will go mine. I have him convinced that his silence is mandatory, can affect national security, and violating that "oath" I made him take would see him hanged. He even thinks I am coming back for him…silly cow. Who believes that sort of balderdash?**_

 _ **Wish me luck!**_

 _ **# # #**_

 _ **MUCH LATER...**_

 _ **A cabin somewhere Northeast of Toronto**_

…..William bobbed into consciousness. _What happened to the light?_ He tried to remember how to open his eyes and wondered if it was merely too dark to see, dimly aware of a bumping, rocking sensation and that his body was bent in half. He groaned…..

….Nausea, pungent smell, sickly–sweet taste on his tongue… choking sensation, followed by a mouthful of water. A hand… _was it a hand?_ Pushing him back down. _Down where?_ He wondered vaguely why he was having such a nightmare…

… Shuffling at her command felt like swimming through frigid mud. Up a step. _Sag._ Step up again. _Sag._ He managed to mumble something about relieving himself. Head spinning, he sat down hard on the commode. _When did the Windsor get a commode? Was this a sick room?_ He could not lever himself upright when he was done… _Must be some sort of bad infection to make me so weak_ , he thought as she helped him up…. _Why is Julia's skin so different and why does she wear a long brown scarf?..._ He peered at her but his vision was so blurred and distorted. _Everything is so dark…_ Her arm came forward and he pushed the terrible tasting liquid away, or at least he tried to. The effort unbalanced him, sending him careening onto a mattress where the bounce set off another round of nausea. _This is medicine? It's awful, tastes like a combination of pear and turpentine …_ "Don' wan' any more" he whined.

# # #

…It was the cold that finally started to bring him around. William almost reached the surface of awareness, the tail ends of bizarre dreams clutching at his limbs in an attempt to haul him back into one of Dante's circles. His thinking was fractured. _What is going on?_ Nothing was clear or in any linear order. He fought to see, other sensations presenting themselves vaguely first: his body shivered lightly, he smelled burning wood, heard the sharp hit of Julia's boot heels… _But that does not really sound like her gait at all_ … trip-trap on the wooden floor. _Thank God for deliverance from such night terrors,_ he thought with effort. _I have vivid dreams after all, but what on earth would have me filled with such ghastly visions?_ His heart jolted. _Julia being shot?! Julia dying?_ He rocked his head. _Monstrous!_ He smacked his lips, the cloying taste still lingered, other senses still stubbornly jumbled up. _It seemed so real, so heart breaking._ Three loud bangs— _or was that a door slamming?_ He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound, at the same time he did not actually hear it… _All too confusing._ He tried to sit up…

…Everything lurched blacker…

# # #

 _ **P. 85 ***E. D. P. *****_

 _ **Dear Diary:**_

 _ **Success! My William is here with me just a few feet away, sleeping peacefully! Now that I have had the time to study him closely, he is even more handsome than I remembered. I recall the first time I saw his smile. I caught him in a casual moment when he was unaware of being observed. Something amused him, bringing a wry, almost bashful grin to his face, utterly transforming him from strong & forbidding to…**_ _ **adorable**_ _ **. Just for me! From that moment I simply**_ _ **knew**_ _ **we were destined to be together.**_

 _ **I roused him enough to get him out of the tiny wagon, into the cabin and onto our bed before giving him more laudanum. He just must be so confused, poor lamb, no wonder he fought me a little. I will just let him sleep it off before making him a home-cooked meal. I hope he likes beef stew. What a treat that will be for him after all that hotel food. He looks a little puffy though…what was she feeding him? I will do better.**_

 _ **William will be so proud of me, I just**_ _ **know**_ _ **it. Look at all I did for him! It is too bad I had to dispose of that constable, but, really, he should have gone away like the others. How was I to know he would be there, poking into the laundry cart? He seemed surprised -suspicious more like it- that I was in William's rooms even though I still had the maid's dress on. He just would not take "I don't know" for an answer. It was a good thing he leaned over into the cart—I'd never have been able to hit him if he hadn't. Tipping William into the cart from his chair wasn't too difficult. Getting that red-haired constable into William's bed was a little harder, but I am strong and that is not the first body I had to hoist around in a bed…now is it? My William will understand.**_

 _ **In my experience, most men always tend to underestimate women—our physical strength, determination, intelligence… deviousness. Then again, most women are singularly weak and stupid—no imagination! My William knows that is not ME. I can't wait to have him in my arms, sharing everything our imaginations can think up. I am going to start a fire, perhaps get a romantic dinner set up. I even have a pretty night gown to tantalize him with.**_

 _ **I know what my William wants—I know the dark flash that is under his polished, masculine veneer…his sharp, angry, sarcastic, manipulative, powerful,**_ _ **sexual**_ _ **aspects. So much passion harnessed & leashed to keep it away from polite society. Might as well keep one of those sleek black panther cats I saw at the zoo once on a string, pacing back & forth & growling. He won't stay on the string for long! He will pounce and devour the unwary—ooooh I can't wait! **_

_**I am going to start by rendering him helpless, so that he will of course have to struggle against the restraints—that is how he will save face. But he will not be able to stop me, because in his heart he does not want to stop me. In his heart he wants to have me possess him utterly. I think I will start by arousing him while he still sleeps. I will show him how much I love him. That has always worked wonders for me before, but with William, I want more, I need more. I want to see and hear his love for me.**_

 _ **William is with me now. I am special to him in the way no one else has ever been, I feel it in my bones. I notice he never wore a wedding ring of hers. What more proof do I need that he did not allow her to claim him, was waiting for me, only me?**_

 _ **I think it is not too soon to plan our wedding. I wonder if I can wear white?**_

 _ **He just better appreciate what I have done for him. I don't want to have to hurt him…he needs me, and I will convince him of that. And, oh! I can't wait to see his face when he knows**_ _ **she**_ _ **is dead. He will be so relieved and grateful. She who thought she knew so much, understood so much. Miss High-and-Mighty who thought she could EVER comprehend the ins and outs of the human condition from her abstract, ivory-tower perch; certainly not the way in which I am capable.**_ _ **She**_ _ **had to go and try to learn what I have always known.**_ _ **She**_ _ **never had to live by her wits, never had any actual experience in the lives over which she passed her bitter judgment with her long words and haughty pronunciation.**_

 _ **Oh, no.**_

 _ **She**_ _ **was only ever a vulture, tearing into the gullible or weak…the ill, dying or dead, no matter what title by which called herself.**_ _ **I**_ _ **am not weak; I have**_ _ **never**_ _ **been weak.**_ _ **Prey**_ _ **are weak.**_

 _ **It is I who am the Huntress: Eva Diana Pearce.**_

 _ **# # #**_

Time looped and stretched uncomfortably….snatches of words or colours oozing up. The last thing he remembered was drinking some of Julia's too-sweet fruit tea, then making love with her in their bedroom… _Or was that right? No._ His head pounded and his mouth felt like it was packed with cotton. He tried to get his bearings… _The last thing I remembered was Julia lying next to me…caressing me awake... Yes. Julia arousing me…only my Julia... That was how we started off our Sunday morning, wasn't it…?_ _No…_ _this last time felt different in some way...where was her blonde hair?_ … He remembered it felt queer…pleasant, but dull and wrong as well…

It was all a frustrating tangle. _That's because it wasn't working, wasn't it?_ He almost laughed at the absurdity, except for a lingering sense of wrongness. _Me not wanting Julia? That has never happened before… Maybe because I have been sick with a fever?…_ He grabbed at logic. _That could explain the chills and the medicine_. William dug around in his mind while he waiting for his blurred vision to clear and brain to engage. _Why would making love with her feel shameful?_ _Wait…_ He wracked his memory, coming up with something that made no sense. _Julia wanted to use her mouth to pleasure me._ _I tried to tell her no, and pushed her away... Or did I_? _She was so disappointed, seemed angry in fact._ _Why?_ The more he tried to recall, the worse it got. _What did she say?... 'Don't ever call me Julia again!'_ _Why would she say such a thing?_

A stab of biting pain assaulted his body centering on his groin, when the next flashback began…of a gruesome nightmare that gripped him in terror…so much coppery-smelling blood, his ears ringing. _So loud!_ William felt his heart race and tears well up, spilling onto his cheek. He could not wipe them away for some reason…

Wake up… Wake Up… You have to _WAKE UP!_ He could not discern if that was his own voice or another's yelling at him. Slowly, painfully, dim light filtered into his eyes and sense into his consciousness. First: he located his shoulder, which ached. Then: he found his hands, which felt numb above wrists that burned. His body was coming back to him…Strangely he still could not move or reposition for comfort. _Perhaps this is still the dream as well? Paralysis is common in sleep. What is the word… parasomnia? Am I sleepwalking as I did as child, and woke up confused and disoriented…?_

"Hello. Hel-lo? HELLO!"

New shouting hurt his ears. Too loud. Too close. Too… _angry_. The bed jolted up and down, accompanied by more greetings. He fought with himself to come fully awake, but nothing felt right. He tried to roll over and go back to sleep, almost preferring the nightmares to the sick feeling drilling into him at the moment. His shoulder twinged again. _Why can't I move?_ He slogged through his memories. Nothing came up. _What about those bangs?—I know gun shots when I hear them… Was I shot? Am I paralyzed?_ The thought immediately panicked him _. Maybe I have been the one in hospital...not Julia?_

It took every ounce of his willpower to focus, to pry his eyes open and make them _see._ One by one he found each muscle in his face and neck that governed his eyelids and turned his head, to force them into coordination enough for movement. He strained his hearing.

" **Hello, William,"** the _Succubus_ called him by name.

 _Familiar somehow… threatening._ His gorge rose….

" **It's so wonderful to see you. Isn't it nice to finally be together?"** The demon's voice repeated from a face that swam into focus.

 _Impossible! It can't be!_ William's dismay was absolute. _I am surely in the grip of an evil nightmare, brought on by illness or that foul medication…._ He concentrated, putting everything into getting oriented. Brief flashes of insight pierced him. _Oh, Lord! The chamber maid?_ Fear rung through him, counteracting the lethargy more effectively than anything else he could have summoned. _She was there! I looked right at her. She shot Julia!_ He made himself say it, praying he was mistaken:

" **Miss Pearce."** It sounded to his ears as if the voice was not his own, merely projected into him like some ventriloquist's mannequin. _Dear God, this cannot be real!_

" **Oh, please. I think we can use first names at this point, William. We've know each other since I was a shop girl. Remember? Of course you do. You were smitten with me from the first time you laid eyes on me."**

William remained caught in un-believing, fuzzy-headed shock, starting to get a fuller, darker picture of his predicament. Small things gathered a shaky foothold on sanity for him…the dimensions of the room, the ceiling beams; even so it took a while to appreciate he was tied hand and foot to a bed. He did not quite believe it, did not want to believe it, despite the evidence. Disbelief came out of his mouth: **"I don't know what you think you are doing…"** _Does one argue with hallucinations?_ He wondered. _Does it do any good? Or is this a Hell crafted for me by my own sins…Divine retribution of the howling darkness for my lust….Is that why I could not see before? …_

She prattled on and on while he tried mightily to wake up, hoping he was actually asleep, praying this was a terrible nightmare. _Perhaps I_ _am_ _dead and this_ _is_ _Hell: anything to avoid believing the evidence of my senses …_ William tried in vain to understand what was happening amidst her talk of drugs and destiny, his feeling of helplessness and desperation ratcheting up. _Did she just tell me she killed Constable Worsley?_ Each exchange brought less confusion and more anguish and alarm. Cold seeped into his gut, filling him with heavy dread, crushing his lungs in agony. His mind fought against the premonition of utter disaster, fought against incoming truth...

There was only one thing he desperately needed to know, at the same time foreboding nearly silenced him… _Anything but_ _that_ _truth…_ The upwelling of horror was impossible to ignore until he blurted out his miserable question: **"My wife…?"**

Eva answered delightedly. **"Oh. She is surely dead, William…"**

Her words came at him like a gargantuan ocean wave, toppling the fragile hold he had on balance. William's heart stopped, frozen up in an instant against his throat, choking him with grief… _I remember everything…_ Suddenly, he was not in a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, but back in Toronto. Images all came rushing forward in a torrent: gun shots sent his pulse racing, Julia is unconscious on the floor while he tries to stop the perilous bleeding, her warm blood slicking his hands…the appalling ride to the hospital, the doctors and soul-wrenching wait outside the surgical theatre… Julia lying so unresponsive and still…Doctor Maharris' ugly words echoing over and over again in William's head: _"I fear she may never wake…"_

While one detached part of William's mind listened and automatically answered Eva Pearce's delusional ravings, the other part of him, the core of his whole being, imploded.

 _Julia…_ _Oh my God,_ _NO!_

He could not think, stripped of all reason by Eva's cruel pronouncement. _Julia is gone? I will never see her again?_ A new set of memories collided in him, each an overlapping moment of joy with Julia whisked away to be drowned in an abyss of white hot pain. Eva would not stop talking, her voice coming to him as if through a long tunnel. Each new sentence she uttered made his flesh crawl with her abhorrent expectations and disturbed fantasies. _Oh, my dearest Julia… our love, our home, our child to be replaced by desolation and a harpy tearing at my flesh_? _Better I should die as well than to submit…_

Even as that thought was born in him, fresh disgust pushed its way up with slanting memories: Grotesque images filtered up from the drug-induced amnesia with sickening insight: _What did she do while I was drugged? What did_ I _do?_

He was nearly unhinged with grief. _I accused Eva of hurting all those that come close to her…And what is it that I have done? I brought danger and death more than once to Julia, the most precious being in my whole world—I did. I did this to Julia, God save me_...

William experienced a dizzying shift in perspective. It seemed to him that he was looking down at himself from a corner of the ceiling. From there, he saw himself make a half-hearted attempt at getting free, and get his hand broken for his troubles… _Well, that was stupid,_ he observed. _How was that stunt going to do any good? Perhaps I wanted to provoke her_? From his perch in the air he did not feel his mangled hand at all…the warm numbness felt nice…

Floating overhead, William saw Eva flounce away while he watched her go, feeling only a little sorry for his battered, sick body below. _Try again tomorrow?_ He found that, strangely, his revulsion was muted. _With Julia gone, what is there really to live for? All I have to do is let go, because Eva will kill me no matter what, and it is nothing more than I deserve…._

Separated as part of him was from his body, it took no effort at all to let go and fall asleep, helped along by another dose of what he suspected was chloral hydrate hidden in the food Eva forced on him. He ate automatically to maintain some strength, not caring about the acrid taste of poison. Afterwards, William fell in and out of awareness as the drug overcame his adrenalin and night bled out to a weak first light, signaling 'tomorrow' was at hand. For a while in the darkness, it was almost as if Julia was lying next to him, her sweet voice so close to his ear, her breath flowing over his skin…

… _ **William...Remember always…I am yours... You are the center of life for me, the very foundation of my world… I know you love me….. My desire is to see you and touch you… There are no half measures are there? I**_ _ **know**_ _ **you are alive. I can feel your life-force, sense our connection; it is powerful and gives me great hope…. No despair. Fate will not**_ _ **be sundered now…In the frigid dark in the middle of nowhere, I feel so close to you…. Something to live for—**_ _ **us**_ _ **!**_ _ **Believe in God. Pray for a miracle….Whatever you need to do, have to do. Stay alive—Use your wits, your memory... everything about managing a dangerous suspect. Don't argue-just go along with her—wherever that takes you. Listen and understand. Do what she does not expect; Get her off her guard. Courage to stay alive long enough until I get to you...**_

# # #


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _ **TUESDAY MORNING**_

 _ **Station House No. 4**_

Thomas's eyes followed his wife's bustle as she sailed out through his office doorway to the front door and the street, wifely-disapproval radiating from Margaret's stiff shoulders and the _rat-a-tat_ of her heels. He bit back a caustic remark, deciding that she was probably right about his _"idiot plan"_ and _"there would be hell to pay,"_ replaying her angry words to himself. He sighed in frustration, completely aware that he was a difficult man and lucky to have such a fiercely loyal and protective mate…If only his loyalties were not so divided in this case. It was a good thing she did not try to forbid him or threaten to stop him, although after all these years of marriage she should know better.

 _I was always going to do it anyway_ , he knew, _come hell or high water._ He sat back down in his desk chair, pushing a litter of papers aside, to try and concentrate. The hated telephone, which had not stopped its infernal clamor for the last few hours, was blessedly silent, allowing him space to sort out his thoughts.

 _God, I want a scotch!_... was all that came to his mind at the moment, even so early as this in the morning. Murdoch gone from his rooms, likely kidnapped, and the by all accounts Dr. Ogden disappearing into thin air right behind him, was enough to try any man's mettle. He poked into the basket Margaret brought for his mid-day meal, approving of the savory smell, but unable to find any appetite for the contents. His drink lay untouched as well. _Probably laughing at me,_ he grumbled to himself, thinking ambivalently of the alcohol. He looked from the half-full glass on the credenza he tried to hide from his wife, to the photographs of his natural family—Margaret and the boys—to the ones of his own men and of previous generations of the constabulary lining his office walls. He decided his loyalty was not in question after all— _Loyalty to one was loyalty to the other in the grand scheme of things_. What was required now was leadership of a different kind.

Initially the personal visits or telephone calls were supportive and "rally-'round-the-flag-boys" in tone. Other colleagues, inspectors, aldermen, even the mayor's office offered help to find Worsley's killer and solve the mystery of who shot Dr. Odgen and where Murdoch was. That lasted only for the first few hours before turning sour, with pressure and innuendo; ugly power struggles in the wider and deepest levels of Toronto politics bubbling up from the muck.

… _If you ever want to be Chief Constable, this can't end badly..._ one visitor whispered confidentially. Another caller was blunter: _If you can't keep your own house clean, your career could be over as well_ … Thomas slammed his hand on the desk. _Bugger that!_ That was the last straw. He told _that_ particular sniveling little bastard to mind his manners, yelling that as long as he was Inspector of Station House No. 4 he'd be the one to decide how a case was handled, then hanging up on him in a righteous disgust. That was before a cold shiver washed over him at the realization of what he'd just done and just _whom_ he managed to offend, right after breakfast this morning.

 _Christ…what next?_ He swore under his breath, not caring if he was overheard. Thomas centered the slip of paper Constable Crabtree had given him on the empty green desk blotter, somehow hoping that would bring a bit of order to the chaos in his head…to no avail. His thoughts darted like the minnows he used for bait, he wished for all he was worth that fishing with his sons was the only thing on earth he had to attend to. He took his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose, feeling an annoying headache blooming behind his eyes, probably caused by turning the problem over in his thoughts so many times; but he found no way around it, only that he must go through it. _There really is nothing else to do, I just have to decide how to do it, and be quick about it._ He checked his watch, as if he could dictate the time and laughed bitterly at his own stubbornness: _Something else my wife pointed out this morning._ Smoothing his hair with both hands, he straightened his shoulders in his habitual manner of preparation, then inhaled deeply.

" _Crabtree!"_ His shout reverberated, startling several officers into looking up through station house's glass office walls. The recipient of his summons immediately set down a map he'd been pouring over and presented himself with a crisp, "Sir?"

Thomas, who had been so sure of his path mere seconds before, now hesitated, critically assessing the officer standing before him. _I can think of no better man than George Crabtree … which is why it is unfair to ask this of him_. He held his breath, seeing the constable waiting expectantly, and then shook off his brief lapse of indecision. _Crabtree knows his own mind. All I can do is ask…_

"Crabtree, I am going to follow up on this," he said with an abrupt exhale, tapping the paper on his desk which contained information about land owned by Miss Pearce's family. "While I am gone I want you on duty as acting detective and for you and Jackson to take over the investigation into Constable Worsley's death as I am not satisfied we have enough information. You can follow up with Miss James as well; she'll have to do until we get another coroner. We have a list of men from the other station houses who will fill in for interviews and canvassing for witnesses who saw anything. When he gets here, Detective Slorach will assist on the case, but you will still be our point man." Thomas felt his face get red, and allowed his irritation to show. "Our men were called off their duty and I want to know more about who and how. And another thing: it makes no sense that someone just waltzed in easy-as-you-please into that hotel and shot Dr. Ogden, vanished into thin air, and then turned back up like a magician to spirit Murdoch away like that, all with a cloak of invisibility around them. _Someone_ from that hotel saw _something_. Shake them up if you have to. Bring the whole bloody staff down here and show them our cells if that's what it takes to get a straight answer!" He noticed George had a confused expression. Thomas paused to take a breath when the other man interrupted him.

"But, sir! How can _you_ leave? Constable Worsley is dead, one of our own, sir. His family needs to know we are putting in a full effort. You probably should stay here and take charge of the investigations and meet with whomever the mayor sends over or the press, considering the number of telephone questions we have fielded already. Some of them not so nice… Why not just telephone or telegraph the local sheriff up there and have them check on that property for us rather than take a chance on a wild goose chase? It might even be faster." George said reasonably.

 _Exactly what Margaret suggested._ Thomas tried not to fume, and stood up, coming around to the front of his desk. "Crabtree, you don't want to have untrained men on the scene if by any chance that's where Murdoch and Miss Pearce are, do you? A cock-up like that in this case would be a disaster, might even put Murdoch in danger." He hoped he was being convincing.

Unfortunately Crabtree still objected. "If it is important that we do it ourselves, then let me go with one of the other men and follow up on this address. If you are that concerned, perhaps I should organize a full search party…?"

Thomas drew himself up as authoritatively as possible. "No. I don't think so. Too much noise might cause even more problems. No. I want you to take over here while I investigate this cabin; you are more than capable and I will not be gone that long." Thomas said this firmly and bored into the younger man's worried eyes with as much resolution as he could give. "Are you going to waggle your gob all day, or follow my orders?" He said, willing him to comply. _Take it, just take it and don't ask any questions,_ he repeated to himself, as if the power of his determination could make it so.

"Sir, I must protest. It is unwise for you to go out like this alone." Crabtree gave one of his crooked, awkward smiles. "It violates the 'Murdoch rule' you insisted upon, that says no officer can ever go alone into a situation without back-up. As you recall you established that rule with good reason…" Of course, no one at the station house called it the 'Murdoch rule' to the detective's face, but everyone was perfectly clear that rule came about due to the unfortunate frequency with which the detective got into jams when he was investigating solo. "I will do whatever you ask me to do, but I must insist someone goes with you, several someones in fact…"

 _Damn Fool!_ Thomas eyed Crabtree, who was standing fish-faced and floundering on the carpet. _He usually has such a vivid imagination, what's wrong with him that I have to spell it out for him this time?_ He wanted Crabtree to understand what might be at stake. He closed the distance between them, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder to speak directly in his ear, hoping no one could eavesdrop.

Thomas lowered his voice to a whisper, keeping his speech clear and calm. "Crabtree. _George._ Listen to me, _damn it!_ … Officer Worsley is dead in Murdoch's rooms, tucked away in his bed no less. This is on top of no one having any witnesses to who actually shot Dr. Ogden." He paused for emphasis. "And now Murdoch's disappeared as is his wife." He nodded his head at the pile of message slips scattered near the desk blotter, then gestured with his hand to include the two of them. " We might believe it is all the work of a deranged patient of Dr. Ogden or an enemy Murdoch has made while doing the constabulary's business, possibly Eva Pearce on both accounts, but plenty of people appear to want to think that Murdoch has something to do with this, perhaps is the one who _caused_ all of this…and they don't want him to be rescued, mind you, but to be brought in for questioning."

"But…but _sir!_ That's ridiculous…" Crabtree answered, then stopped suddenly, looking like his throat was working for some spit. Then his wide eyes froze for a second, before slanting back and forth, obviously thinking through the implications. Thomas saw it was sinking in how serious this was becoming. It _was_ possible Detective Murdoch had enemies at City Hall and in the constabulary who might take advantage of the situation to wish him harm; _very possible._

Thomas collected his coat on and reached for his scarf and gloves. "Now you've got it, Sunshine! Even if it is bloody-well ridiculous, I don't want anyone but me to be the first on the scene." Thomas thought this next part through carefully, his words ground out slowly through tightened jaws. "You have two choices. You can stay here and be acting detective on this case, hold the station house together for me while I am gone…." He paused, recalculating the options. "Or you can come with me."

While waiting for Crabtree to answer, he went to the coat rack and donned his winter garments before looking around. His eyes strayed to the tumbler of scotch sitting forlornly on the sideboard. Grimacing, Thomas went over and poured it back into his decanter, banging the stopper in sharply with a meaty fist. "It's your decision, but I am going, and going now. So, do I ask Jackson, instead of you, to take over until Detective Slorach gets here…or not?" Thomas felt his heart pound the headache deeper and more painfully into his brain, anxious about how the man would answer. When Crabtree only stood there, blocking the doorway, he pushed in ever closer to the constable's face, hissing: "Choose, George. _Now!_ "

"Sir. I'll drive," was the answer.

 **# # #**

 **TUESDAY MORNING**

 _ **A cabin somewhere Northeast of Toronto**_

William groaned, reaching with his senses. He vividly remembered Julia's scent in his nostrils. _It felt so real…Julia with me… It felt comforting, energizing, and so powerful… it's hard to believe it was only a dream and not something more substantial…_

A realization niggled at his brain, swirling away at the edges of awareness. _Was it in my dream or not?_ He concentrated on the flow of words... _Something in what Eva said… what was it?_ He re-ran her conversation, finding the pertinent statement: _Eva said 'She surely is dead.' That was all! Eva did not say she killed Julia or knew Julia was dead…and she would have crowed about it if she knew absolutely… What if Julia survived?_ The hairs on William's body stood out like bristles and his brain buzzed with excitement. He narrowed his attention on exactly what he knew and remembered.

Unease and lethargy lifted a bit as sunlight peeked through the cabin windows, elongating shadows that now stretched across the floor. He saw the glow moving, thought how far the light had already travelled from the sun to earth: _Sometimes we cannot see the sun, but it is always there, just as Julia and I are always there for each other_ … _Our connection is so deep…_ He reflected on his dream: so realistic _… Was Julia calling me across whatever distance separates us?_ Hope and happiness hesitated within him… _Can it be true? Is there always hope?_ William suspended his brain full of logic, listening instead as his heart gave him the answer….

 _I can feel it_ _…_ _Julia is alive!_

He slammed back into his body, solid and sensible, resolve taking root and faith reasserted itself in his guts, banishing questions or doubt with a blaze of heat. _I would not allow gloom in Julia's presence, so I will not allow it to capture my mind either. I have_ _us_ _to live for!_ _Julia_ _to live for! And I will never make the mistake again of giving up, even for a second._

Psychic sending or vision, hallucination or not, William determined to take Julia's advice about handling his situation, wherever it came from, however he received it. He started to calculate, confident he was on the right track: _Eva will expect me to fight, or to be angry or try and take control, which will get me nowhere._ He felt the throbbing pain in his hand as evidence of the wisdom in that, and recalled a time when Julia coaxed some well-buried awareness out of him: that he can be reactive, predictable and unbending, which Eva used at one time to her advantage. _Not this time, she won't…_

 _Now I just have to remember Eva does not indeed know me, does not really know me at all…And_ _that_ _is_ _her_ _weakness and my opportunity to exploit… I must give Eva enough of what she wants until I can turn the tables on her and get out of here…._ He noticed his mind was sharp and clear while he chose, evaluated and discarded options.

Now, it was William's turn to lay in wait…

 **# # #**

 _ **On the Road**_

Ultimately the stable-hand, Hicks, drove their carriage while Thomas and Crabtree jolted uncomfortably in the rear seat, thrown left and right as the wheels grabbed at a rutted trace only an optimist would have counted as a proper road. Fortunately there was only a dusting of snow or travel would have been impossible. Hicks had been the one who saddled a horse last evening for Dr. Ogden from the Stations House's stables, dumb-founded as he was by the sight of the woman dressed in her husband's trousers, boots, shirt, coat and hat, demanding a horse, entreating him to helping her. Thomas had reduced the man to a quivering mess upon learning about it, so by way of recompense, Hicks agreed to harness the horses and take the carriage reins, with a mutual vow of silence about the whole business.

A small bundle of supplies lay crammed by Thomas' feet, a shot gun for the constable and blankets beside his empty lunch basket, that fed the three of them instead of having to stop, not that there was any place _to_ stop. According to Crabtree's map, there was no direct route to get from Toronto to the Pearce's land, forcing them to jog east, then north, then east again, and back north in a crab-like slant past cleared farmland into thick forest.

Crabtree kept tracing the map, calling out directions to Hicks when a decision needed to be made at various forks in the road and trying to calculate how long the journey was going to take. "If Dr. Ogden left late in the day yesterday, and went cross-country, she still could not have gotten all the way there. It would have been too dark," he commented.

Thomas did not answer. The two men were mostly quiet, as Thomas insisted it was important Hicks did not get any more knowledge than he already had, including the gossip about Murdoch. "No need to have yet another man running his mouth," Thomas warned.

Crabtree kept glancing at him though, opening his lips as if to say something and then changing his mind and closing back up. Thomas considered the younger man who sat by him in the carriage. He had an inkling about what the unasked question was, and thought perhaps it was fair to take Crabtree fully into the matter, since the constable was here with him more on faith than anything else. He let himself rummage through their history together for a while, watching the landscape pass.

Thomas reviewed what he considered to be the pivotal decisions in his life: leaving Yorkshire for London, going to war, coming to Canada, getting Margaret to marry him, and joining the constabulary…all were critical to getting him where he was now in his career. These were the sort of turning points in any man's history that defined his station in life, producing a common-enough story: nothing much special in that. Hundreds, if not thousands of men's lives were similarly arranged.

Less obvious but equally important were a different set of decisions a man might make; the small ones that do not seem particularly significant, but which, like a degree or two on a compass heading, can throw a man towards a completely unintended destination if enough time and distance unfold. He counted four such decisions: two of which included taking on quirky, irritating, question-everything, overly-intellectual Murdoch as his full detective, and the second was bringing George Crabtree into Station House No. 4, a dozen some-odd years ago.

 _Murdoch_ , who had a penchant for ferreting out obscurities that more often than not wound up solving cases; who is so bloody serious and cannot tell a joke (or sometimes recognize one) if his life depended on it…And _Crabtree,_ a solid man with a quick sense of humor and flighty imagination that grows on you after a while….No one in their right mind would have predicted how well the two of them, seemingly opposites, would work so effectively together.

Thomas looked about himself, stuffed into an uncomfortable carriage in the middle of the frozen nowhere going towards who-knows-what with only the slimmest chance of it doing any good. Satisfaction bloomed in his warrior's heart. _I would not change a thing,_ he thought.

He reflected on his life and some other less fortunate decisions, and made a face. _Well maybe a few things_ … He turned to his companion and finally asked, "I suppose you want to know exactly what we are doing out here?"

Crabtree nodded, apparently relieved to talk about it. "Well, some of it is obvious. I suppose that we are doing our due diligence," was the vague answer. "And I suppose we are going to make sure Dr. Ogden is all right, poor lady. I can't imagine how hard a ride she will have, wounded like that…"

"And you also want to know what we are going to do when we get there?" Thomas offered.

Crabtree nodded again, pulling his coat tighter and turning the collar up against the cold. "Well, sir, it occurs to me that will depend on what we find..." He saw George flick his eyes to the driver, and grunt.

Thomas nodded and silently agreed, pitching his voice to be heard over the racket of the carriage but not so loud for the driver to eavesdrop. " _Nemo resideo,_ " Thomas announced.

Crabtree look at him and just blinked quizzically. "Sir?" he asked.

Thomas chuckled. "Murdoch isn't the only member of Station House No. 4 who knows a little Latin. _Nemo resideo_ means that you never leave a man behind. Something I learned in the war. We are going because we have to, me ole' mucker, because it is the right thing to do when a comrade is missing." He laughed again, staving off the uncomfortable truth. "You rescue someone once and then you sort have to keep on doing it…Have you ever counted the number of times we've had to pull Murdoch's arse out of the crapper?"

Crabtree's face took on an embarrassed smile, but Thomas noticed that as loyal as Crabtree was to Murdoch, he did not disagree.

Thomas continued, more seriously now. "This could indeed be a wild goose chase as you suggested earlier. However, if you are right and Miss Pearce has Murdoch out there and still alive because of some insanity on her part, believing she's in love with him or he with her…" Thomas thought briefly about his marriage with Margaret; as tumultuous as it was, that was at least love as he understood love to be, not the lunatic ravings of a harpy like Eva Pearce. "We get to rescue him and capture her, _also alive_ , and secure the evidence of her other crimes—including the death of Worsley."

Thomas patted the rifle positioned between his knees to underline what was left unsaid. Between them, the threemen had only the two weapons, hardly an army or arsenal equipped to lay siege. But as far as Thomas was concerned it was better this way, a tactic he learned in Afghanistan: a small force, lightly armed, making a focused strike at a single target, could be more effective than a brigade. There were also fewer witnesses….

Which was the point he needed to make to George. "Crabtree, what do you make of Dr. Ogden taking off like that?"

"Well I can't imagine she was thinking too clearly at all. I suppose she thought she'd be the one to somehow rescue the detective." Crabtree seemed uncomfortable now.

Thomas let sarcasm play in his voice. "And just how do you imagine she was she going to do that, even if she wasn't gut-shot and stitched? If she thinks Murdoch is there, what do you suppose are her intentions, sneaking off, on her own, armed, it seems, with a bow?" He paused dramatically. "Invite Miss Pearce to tea?" He waved his hand. "Or knock politely on the door, saying 'I believe you have something that belongs to me and I'd like to have him back'?"

Thomas shut himself off from speculating out loud about what they might find when they reach their destination, not sure which outcome he dreaded more. His old regiment sergeant always said that officers never told the whole truth to the men—in case it disheartened them. It enraged Thomas at the time, but since he'd been the head of Station No. 4, he'd slowly and unhappily adopted the wisdom of it.

George appeared not to breathe while he as working it out, then his face abruptly fell. "Holy Mother of God!..." he said in horror.

"Exactly." Thomas confirmed. "We are going to get there and pray for the best, but as my old commander would say, we have to be prepared for the worst."

 **# # #**

 _ **A cabin somewhere Northeast of Toronto**_

He worked the rope restraints ferociously, spurred on by the sounds of an altercation outside. Once freed, he stumbled out of the cabin door to the impossible tableau of his wife, dressed as a labourer, on the ground next to Eva. Then he heard her speak:

… " _ **William… I'm alive. I'm ALIVE!"**_

William was absolutely stunned.

An Archangel could not have poured sweeter, more miraculous words into his astonished ears. Hearing Julia say his name brought him such soaring joy, filling the aching emptiness of the last brutal hours, her voice slipping along a well-worn path deep into the core of his whole being to the place where he felt his soul resided. Even so, he needed to touch her, feel her solidly beneath his fingers, for it to completely sink in that this was not yet another illusion brought about by his desperate desire for it to be true, especially considering the hefty dose of drugs he'd been laboring under. Last night had been wrenching for him, tearing his hold on reality while ripping his emotions to shreds. He did not know what emotion _to_ feel right now, or whether or not to trust the joy; in fact he was almost afraid to feel _anything_ because the pain had been nearly too great to bear. For William, the next few seconds stretched and spun as his attention was captured by the sight of his beloved Julia, dressed in _his_ clothing and covered in blood.

He found Julia's face, noticed her ungoverned blonde mane, the stubborn set of her chin and mouth, the curve of her eyebrows… _It seems right_. _There is only one way, really, to know for certain…_

He unconsciously held his breath as his eyes sought her eternally blue depths and held them, suspended for a heart-beat's time, praying for all he was worth she was real. His pulse throbbed once, then again in anticipation, awaiting the verdict…

 _Yes!_ He exhaled in a burst of air, and sensed his face alter in wonderment.

 _Julia_ _is looking right back at me… Oh, Julia my love_ … _And there it is!_ …. _The deep connection that makes everything in my world right_ …

For the first time in days he was grounded again. _I am free and she is safely with me!_ _Dear Lord, thank you for this gift…_

Part of him nearly giggled in relief.

And yet, his mind protested.

 _We are not truly free until it is over, once and for all_. William felt compelled to pin his gaze on their tormentor by an urge stronger than he was able to resist…He had to go over and see it for himself, to see the manic lights flee Eva's deranged eyes, in order to know for certain if it was safe to turn his back on her. _Safe enough to leave her in the past where she belongs, never to rise like some phantom in a penny-dreadful, or a James Gillies for that matter, to haunt us…_ He knelt to get a closer look.

" **Miss Pearce…"** It took no time at all to realize she was beyond saving for this world. He saw the amount of blood as it ran through her fingers and pooled by her body, and knew from experience the terrible wound was fatal. Automatically, he made the sign of the cross, needing a blessing to cleanse the evil permeating this entire gruesome business… _How could she talk about love?_ _This madness had nothing to do with love_. He checked again to be sure, but in fact, Eva Pearce was gone. Grim satisfaction and blessed relief collided in his chest, surprising him with its power. _Father Keegan did not know how right he was, so long ago, when he advised me we have nothing to fear from the dead._ He hesitated only briefly, thinking of his former teacher, and wondered if the old priest would have been disappointed in his behaviour.

 _Later_ , he told himself, _later I will confess my sins, be ashamed of my weaknesses…Right now I am satisfied she is gone with my own eyes witnessing her end. Only this will keep Julia safe…_

William hauled himself up from his knees and without a backward glance stumbled over to Julia to hold her fiercely, kissing her hair and cheeks, finding her lips to taste. Energy suffused his tired body while a stream of words rushed from him in between each frantic kiss. "Julia, Oh, Julia… It's really you! I love you so much…I believed…Well I thought… Then I _knew_ …. You are here!... Are the men right behind you? How on earth…?" His usually rational mind and firm command of the English language were unmoored by his emotions, and his mouth could not keep up with his thoughts. Julia said nothing, only hung tightly to his neck for dear life then faltered as her knees buckled. William picked her up in his arms as she let go, resting her weight against his chest while he went up the cabin steps and pushed the wooden door open with his foot. She seemed so impossibly light and fragile to him. He bypassed the bed with its abhorrent memories and placed her gently on a long trestle table by the stove, folding a piece of blanket for her head to rest upon.

"Julia. You are bleeding!" He restated the obvious and pressed his hand over the wound to staunch the flow.

Julia drew up and winced. "Ow! William, no. Not so hard," she hissed. She tried to smile when she saw him blanch. "It's all right. I need to pack the wound, or add material to absorb the blood." Her voice was breathy and weak.

William grabbed another towel and helped her open her shirt to add the cloth, then re-bind the whole dressing snuggly. All the while he was doing this he looked out the door and windows, expecting more help to appear any second now, peppering her with questions as he worked. "How did you get here? Why aren't you still in hospital? When did you wake up?"

"William! Stop. One question at a time!" Julia pleaded. William's delight in seeing her was getting dampened by concern about her health.

William chose, to his mind, the most critical question. "Julia? Where, in Heaven's Name, is the rest of your party?" To his eye, she needed to be back in hospital and he was quite angry that someone discharged her from there in this condition, and worse yet, that Inspector Brackenreid allowed her to come all the way out here, wherever that was, let alone somehow get ahead of the search and rescue. He was already worried about the trip back to Toronto and how long it was going to take.

She motioned for him to help her sit up, then looked around the room before confessing in a shaky voice. "William, no one is coming—not any time soon. I am here on my own." She grunted, doubling over again in pain.

He was floored by her answer. "I suppose the fact that that no one is with you means that you left the hospital without your doctor's permission?" William helped her lie back down and checked to see if there was more fresh blood seeping through her bandages, struggling against his mounting anxiety.

Julia merely nodded, needing to catch her breath. In a short while she continued, breathing shallowly now. "Well, I _am_ a doctor, so I discharged myself." She paused again, a small sardonic smile on her lips. "In my professional opinion, however, I am pretty sure I need to get back there as soon as possible."

William curled the edges of his mouth in return, pushing some of the hair out of her face and kissing her forehead to help calm himself down. "Yes, _doctor_ ," making sure she heard the emphasis and the smile in his voice. He gestured to their surroundings. "Do you know where we are?"

"We are a little past Stouffville. I knew it was Eva Peace who shot me, William, and I recalled she talked about land out this way. When I learned you were missing, I rode cross-country to get here…"

William was stunned again. "You RODE out here?" He had a very good idea of what she must have gone through. _No wonder she looks so exhausted_.

Julia answered as if it was a silly question. "Why, yes—it was the fastest way, although I had to stop when it got too dark. All I could think about was getting to you, hoping you were still alive…"

William remembered his vision from last night so clearly. He despaired when he thought she was dead, nearly ready to give up when it seemed to him, somehow, Julia was _calling_ to him, impossible as that was. He _felt_ her dear presence come to him, simply _knew_ their connection still existed, which meant Julia _had_ to be alive. He suddenly needed her to know the strength that knowledge gave him to endure... "Julia? I swear I could hear you, despite everything… heard you in my head... You.. _.talked_ to me." He gazed deeply in her eyes. "It gave me great hope…"

She smiled a little at that. "Good, because I did not want you to give up, simply as you would not ever give up on me…have _never_ given up on me." He saw her smile wider, saying so much about their past with her expression. "Do you know, I heard _you_ William, while I was in the hospital…" At that, her face collapsed in pain once more, cutting off her story with a moan and starting another round of panting.

"Shhh, Julia…easy does it. I know you did... We'll talk about it later, I promise." He held her until her breathing calmed and he smoothed her tangle of hair away from her face.

In a moment she whispered, "William, we need to start back to the city, but first I have to rest a bit. Can you find me some water?"

William covered her up with a blanket to guard against shock then set about his chores. _The both of us are in rough shape, but I do not have a gaping wound nor spent the night out in the open._ He regarded her again. _It is going to be a chore to get us back safely, so…first things first._ He put fresh wood in the stove to heat the room and make tea, then found a jug for water and filled it from the pump outside. He brought two clay cups over to the table, helping her drink before finishing his own. At her direction he rummaged around and found a loaf of bread and jar of honey, bringing them to her. Julia declined the bread but accepted honey and water, which revived her enough to examine the cabin. Her eyes alighted on the bed.

"William, I take it you were restrained?" Julia indicated the white-painted iron headboard, an angry expression crossing her face.

He nodded, finding it hard to look _there_. He took a swallow of water to wash down some of the hard loaf spread with honey he was eating, feeling suddenly nauseous at the memory. "Yes…I was also drugged with chloral hydrate, I believe." He swung his back to her in order to compose himself, then brought two glass bottles over to where Julia was resting. He opened a stopper on one and sniffed, then dipped a finger into some of the contents and tasted. "This other one appears to be laudanum dissolved in alcohol, probably sherry. I think she fed that to me as well. Perhaps it will help with your pain?"

Julia examined the bottle as well and took a small swallow. "Not very good sherry at that…"she commented. "Snydenham-type preparation if I am not mistaken. I can't have too much or I will fall off my horse, but a little will make it more bearable." She laid back down and handed the concoction over to him.

William kissed her forehead again, his lips feeling heat coming off her skin and was nervous she might be feverish. His critical eye did not like what he saw, so he spent some time trying to figure out what their next move should be. Instead of announcing his unease, he tried humour to distract her while formulating his plan. "Julia, it looks to me as if it should have been _you_ who was tied to your hospital bed, to keep you there where you belong."

Julia grazed her hand along his unshaven chin, offering him a wry grin along with her worried glance. "Then you would have never gotten rescued, William." She paused and took in a breath, then let it go slowly. "She was going to kill you," she said evenly.

He caught her anxious blue eyes with his and held them, willing her to understand. _There is so much about you coming here to find me, to rescue me, so much about what we both have gone through in the last two days that I need to tell you, need to ask you…_ His chest was tight. _So much I am also afraid to say and fearful to ask..._

"I know," was all he answered, softly taking her hand and kissing it, grateful for her warmth and her presence, still marveling she was actually there with him. _This is what truly matters, we have our lives and our future, thank God!_

He saw Julia take in another long draw of air, disquiet written on her face. From that look, he knew whatever she was about to tell him was going to be bad, so he held his breath as well and waited. "She killed Constable Worsley, William. I heard that from the station house and I think I saw some of the evidence in our rooms. They did not tell me the circumstances…"

William's gut clenched and he exhaled as if he'd been punched. He'd completely forgotten Eva had told him that, the events of the last forty-eight hours refusing to line themselves up properly for him. "Oh, Dear Lord; his poor family," he said sadly. He was ashamed that in his happiness about Julia being alive, he failed to remember that Worsley died protecting him. "He was a good officer and a good man," he added, aware that they were the right words, and completely insufficient to mark such a tragedy. Anger at Eva, which had been muted, flared within him, mixing with bitterness about the constable's death. "I wonder who else was involved and if the constabulary has apprehended them yet."

"We will know when we get back." She shifted position. "I feel immensely guilty, William. I had no idea Eva was so deranged. She completely fooled me." Julia said, her voice rising in distress. "I was thinking about that the whole way here. I considered her to be sane, evil perhaps in her motives, greedy and homicidal certainly, but certainly not mentally ill."

William reached over to stroke her face and comfort his wife. "She fooled everyone, Julia. Last night…" his voice broke slightly, and he coughed before continuing. "Last night she tried to tell me a story—that her father killed her mother for marital infidelity, then took his own life." He recalled Eva's words and more—the _way_ she told the story, and how she defended her father's actions had been quite chilling. "I think it...damaged her in some way."

"I see," she said. "I suppose that could explain a few things…" He saw Julia's face furrow in concentration, analyzing that revelation.

To William, his wife appeared calmer and more focused; he suspected she was less consumed by her pain, therefore able to have a coherent conversation. _Perhaps the medicine is working,_ he thought, tempted to take a dose himself. His initial excitement at seeing Julia caused him to ignore his injury; however enough time had elapsed that the blow to his right hand was asserting itself with stinging pain. Thinking it over, he decided against the drug. _I must have a clear head to focus on Julia and getting us home; the pain may be a benefit in the long run keeping me alert._

He saw Julia nod sharply as if she came to a conclusion. She declared: "Enough about Miss Pearce for now." She pointed to his injured hand, gently tracing the purpling bruise and palpating the swelling that had blossomed overnight. "How did you get hurt?"

He blushed involuntarily and wrinkled his face in a sidelong grin. "Trying to escape." He looked up at her from under his lashes and shrugged to give himself time to decide what he wanted to tell her. "Let us say I did not get my timing quite right." He hoped she would not press for details, as he certainly did not want to explain any further.

"Trying to get out of wielding a hammer building our home, is more like it…" Julia shot back, pulling another small laugh out of him.

"Julia!" He smiled in mock protest. _Oh, she knows how to tease,_ he thought. "Speaking of getting back home, do you know the route we should take? It occurs to me we need to stick to the roads since we don't appear to have a map and the trails out here might be confusing."

She tugged on his sleeve again. "I know the way. If I can memorize the human circulatory and nervous systems, I can keep a map in my head—it's nearly the same thing. Besides a map is only two dimensional unlike the human body. I'm surprised at _you_ , though, that you don't have one memorized already," she teased again. Her smile was so full of love for him his breath caught.

 _My God, this woman is magnificent!_ He made his eyes wide. "Well, I _was_ unconscious during the trip here… Besides, I have never had a case this far out of Toronto before, although I do like to study maps." He made an arm gesture which resulted in his hand bumping against the table. He gasped then ground his teeth in pain, cradling his palm.

Julia reached over to soothe _him_ , examining his injury more closely. Her prodding was professional-and painful. He trusted she knew what she was doing so he allowed her to tend to it; nevertheless he set his jaw to help him avoid wincing or draw his hand away. When she spoke she offered advice: "William, go outside and gather some snow, then pack it around your hand for at least twenty minutes to reduce the swelling." She gave him a wan smile and caressed his fingers. "Come right back, won't you? After all, I just found you…" She coughed, which made her groan and clutch her side. "I am going to rest a bit longer, then we need to head home."

William offered her more honey in water and sat with her as she drank it, then did as he was told while she rested. As he scooped up snow, he located Julia's horse a few yards away, and took it to a small outbuilding where he discovered a second horse was stabled. He secured the horses with food and water before carrying his bowl of snow back towards the cabin, having a better idea now of how to get them the long way back to Toronto.

He could not help his thoughts: _I am impressed with Julia's determination, and appalled by her foolishness in coming here,_ his thoughts and feelings see-sawing between gratitude and loving outrage. Finding the rest of Julia's belongings only enhanced this conflict.

He took the path leading back to the cabin. To his right lay Miss Pearce's corpse, beyond the water-well's pump, past a few trees. From that distance he inspected her supine form, dressed in a light pink gown and grey sweater, lying amongst the brown leaves, and balancing the dignity of her being covered up against his desire to rejoin Julia as quickly as possible. Without hesitating, William turned onto the porch and in through the doorway.

 _Not this time…_

William walked softly across the creaky floor to where Julia was lying, looking around for items that might prove useful, and made a mental list. He did not know the time, instead estimated by the sun it was mid-morning at the latest, so they would need to leave soon. He made sure there was wood in the stove and water nearby in case she asked for more, then sat on the wooden bench next her with his hand buried in snow. He checked on her, and saw she appeared to be sleeping, her color freshening and her chest rising and falling regularly. He listened for any rasp in her lungs and found none.

 _Good._ He sighed deeply, touching one of her curls, running the silk of it through his left hand. He was so very happy to see her alive, to feel so close to her, he could almost imagine they were in their own rooms, and this was merely that wonderful time in the morning when he was awake before her, watching her sleep with her blonde hair fanned out on their pillows. He cast his mind back over Sunday morning when they were so contented in each other's arms. _How can that have been a mere two days ago?_ It reinforced to him that _place_ was not important, because being with Julia was always his version of home. He brushed his lips over her forehead again, wishing they might stay in some sheltered cocoon for a while before facing their next difficult tasks.

As he sat there beside her, he rehearsed his plan to himself: _After we are done here, we will each take a horse, and hope to God we pick the correct route to meet up with the constabulary somewhere on the road._

 _# # #_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _ **A cabin somewhere Northeast of Toronto**_

"William?"

Julia's voice startled him, speeding his pulse and sending him abruptly upright. He flicked his eyes to the smoke rising up from the cabin's chimney. "Julia?" He answered, mouth suddenly dry. "What are you doing out here? Go back to the cabin and rest, or drink more water while we have the chance. I also located the privy…"

Julia did no such thing, merely pulled her arms closer around her body as she walked over. He thought she was using all her strength to remain upright and hide her pain from him. She paused to examine his efforts, clearly weighing her words. "Detective? I am surprised at you. It is quite unlike you to disturb a crime scene. You have come close to taking the hide off an inexperienced constable for doing so…"

He protested that was both untrue and unfair, but she waved that away.

"Not literally, of course, you always patiently explain what their error was and why, but they have never done it twice, and no one who has witnessed your displeasure has ever forgotten, now have they?" she asked, very seriously.

William knew she was right. "Point taken, doctor," was all he could muster in acknowledgement. He looked down at the shape by his feet. "However, in my view, this is not a crime scene."

"Oh? How is it not?" Julia challenged.

"The primary crime scenes are in Toronto, in our hotel where you were shot and Constable Worsley, God rest his soul, died." He took a small wrapped parcel out of the pocket of a coat he found on a cabin wall-peg, and showed her. "This, I believe, is the gun she used to shoot you. We will take it back with us and compare it to the bullets the doctors took out of you." He saw Julia unconsciously place a hand on her abdomen over her wound. "It will have her finger marks on it. That should match this weapon in her possession with your shooting." He stopped, unable to go on and tell her that it was only much later he remembered seeing Eva dressed as a maid in the hotel corridor. _I looked right through her and never saw her; so focused on you lying there bleeding….._

"Should we not leave her here, regardless?" Julia asked in all reasonableness.

William dropped his eyes to the long cloth bundle on the ground at his feet, tied at both ends with twine, containing the earthly remains of a murderer. "We cannot wait… _you_ cannot wait until someone else arrives. You need to get back to Toronto General Hospital right away, as we agreed. If we left her to the elements, predators would get her in no time out here. Moving her body to the cabin disturbs any evidence as well. So I think we will bring her and the gun, and this knife," he fished another carefully wrapped item out of his coat, "all back to the city with us. That should end this business," he looked at her carefully, "once and for all."

Julia might be rallying but was still ghastly ill, and his primary intention was about _her_ wellbeing. "I found a second horse for us, this coat and these gloves for me, plus a container for water." He looked up at the overcast sky. "If you are sufficiently rested, we need to leave now. In what direction shall we start In order to meet up with whomever the constabulary might send?"

# # #

William managed the horses mostly one-handed, with Julia assisting on the smaller buckles and things needing a second set of fingers, working quickly and efficiently together. Using the porch for height, they tied their grisly baggage to the back of one horse and mounted the second one together, Julia in front and William behind, so they could share warmth and William could help her remain seated. Truth be told, he wanted to have her as physically close to him as possible, and neither particularly wanted to ride with a corpse. As it was, the first horse shied from its burden, likely smelling blood, and required some coaxing to accept a dead body across its withers.

Julia chose the most logical route towards Toronto - tacking south, then west along the gridlines of concession roads and explained the landmarks to look for. As they rode, William was happy to talk about trivialities and keep the conversation lighter than he usually enjoyed; it served to keep Julia distracted as the time passed.

William covertly observed her, able to believe she could be enjoying the trip, as if they were on a vacation or some kind of expedition. _She is being very brave,_ he thought as he hugged her closer, feeling proud of her as well as admiring her appearance on horseback, dressed in his clothes and hat as if it were the most natural thing in the world for the two of them to be in trousers riding through the snow.

"Julia, you know the last time we shared a horse like this was our wedding day?" he commented in her ear. "Of course, you were dressed a slightly differently…" and she rewarded him with a weak giggle, then an abrupt hiss when the pain kicked in.

"William! Don't make me laugh, it hurts too much. Besides, this time I don't have to ride side-saddle…"

He took the opportunity to reminisce about their marriage, the new topic helping to keep her mind off the pain. Small doses of the laudanum he thought to bring were helpful as well, because even though they did not ride fast, their mount was not a pleasure horse with a particularly smooth gait, making the jostling to Julia's abdomen very uncomfortable _._

 _I have always known her to be tough and resilient. This is a new display of physical courage I have not appreciated before._ A small grumble overtook him… _If I ignore the fact she should not be out here in the first place..._ Julia continued to make small-talk or murmur until she eventually fell silent. William became aware she was asleep in his arms, perhaps lulled by the effects of the drug, so he was contented to allow her to rest while he kept the horses moving, entirely satisfied to be holding her safe and sound.

She roused herself when the sun was high and the air a bit warmer. "Hello," he whispered in her ear. "Welcome back." She leaned back into him, accepting his embrace.

"I am so thirsty," she said while stretching and checking her bandages. "May I have some water?" He brought a canteen around for her to drink, pronouncing herself feeling much better. "I think I'd like to take a break for a minute or two before we continue."

"As you wish," he answered. He halted their horses and dismounted, then helped her down. "Are you feeling any better?" He thought her colour was better and her eyes were less dull, notwithstanding the pupil-constricting properties of the pain medicine. He appreciated she had a little more energy and appeared to be steadier on her feet.

"Yes, I do believe I _am_ feeling better, considering everything." Julia patted the one horse, averting her eyes away from the body on the back of the second horse. "I also think I am strong enough to ride by myself and not fall off," she smiled. _Only half- joking_ , he suspected.

He sighed. Seeing her more alert and aware pleased him no end, since he'd been harbouring the fear that she might have some kind of medical emergency on the road, with him having no idea how to help her.

 **# # #**

 _ **On the Road**_

Thomas knew by the time the carriage reached the cabin, they could end up finding absolutely nothing but an empty structure with no sign anyone had been there in ages. They could find all three of them: Murdoch, the doctor and that Pearce woman, alive. They could find all three dead as well, or some combination of living and dead. He thought possibly the most gut wrenching thing to face would actually be finding Murdoch, alive, and then trying to explain to him where his wife was, if she never made it to the cabin. Thomas was not sure he was prepared for that, could ever be prepared for _that…_

His plan was to sneak up on the property and do a little reconnaissance, and plan out how to rescue whomever needed rescuing and capturing Eva Pearce. He meant it when he told Crabtree that he wanted her alive, because that was going to be just about the only way to neatly wrap up all the necessary loose ends to everyone's satisfaction. Laying out the possible strategies for breaching the cabin, figuring out sight lines… All this talk of ambush and war…

For the first time in a decade, Thomas had a sudden memory surface of one of the most brutal encounters he ever endured, the cold and pitching of the carriage blatant reminders of one awful day…. He immediately closed his eyes to fight off the nausea as sweat popped out on his brow. Gripping the barrel of the rifle, he waited with a sour feeling in his gut until it passed, leaving him disoriented and shaking.

 **# # #**

Each mile away from the woods and in the direction of Toronto brought William closer to the comforts and regularities of his life and put the horrors of the events in perspective. He was wrung out, of course, but nothing that a few days of rest would not cure; all he wanted or needed was to have Julia beside him in bed and enjoy some blissful sleep. "I'd say we are about half way to the city," he commented, hoping he was right. He saw to her comfort then adjusted the horses so she could ride solo; he would ride on the other horse with Miss Pearce's remains. After she had rested, getting Julia back up on her horse was accomplished with minimal fuss, so they pushed on under darkening skies, picking up the threads of conversation.

Inevitably, the topic of Eva Pearce was on Julia's mind. William steered the conversation away several times, but Julia expressed a need to process it. He understood. William always benefitted from discussing his cases with her, so he answered her questions, explaining more of what Eva had disclosed to him about her childhood. He made a point of assiduously avoiding descriptions of Eva's more predatory behaviors, in part because his experience of them was heavily drug-affected, making it difficult to sort out the distortions from reality. He was not sure if it was better to know or not know exactly what transpired while he was drugged, so he was grateful Julia did not press him for those details, although she might have guessed at some of it.

William finished his observations with a question of his own. "Miss Pearce seemed to think nothing amiss about the murder-suicide of her parents. Can a trauma do that to a person? Can it make them disengage from natural human sensitivities? Make a woman homicidal?" He asked as they turned south again at a crossroads. He noticed the road surfaces were getting smoother and in better repair now.

Julia reflected a moment. "Perhaps." She was quiet for a while, obviously considering the known facts. "'Psychopathic inferiority' is what Herr Doctor Koch called it- behavioral or interpersonal dysfunction absent obvious mental illness. I suppose that could fit Miss Pearce. Trauma, especially at a young age, can have a devastating effect on psychological development; Miss Pearce could very likely have been affected by those tragic events. However, most people who are traumatized never harm another living soul and I am not inclined to give her any excuses, William."

He couldn't agree more. He remained thoughtful for some time, riding in silence beside her. After a while he allowed his memory to travel along critical events in his own past, especially the ones that changed the course of his life. He suspected they might have produced a variety of drastically different outcomes other than the one which included his life with Julia and the constabulary, if he had gained the wrong sort of lessons about the world. The realization produced a shudder. _There but for the Grace of God, go I…_

When he spoke, he was thinking out loud. "I have lived nearly my whole life with the idea that the past is in the past; we are informed and shaped by it, of course, but time flows singularly forward. I know is only possible, really, to live in the present." As William formed the words, recognized he was talking to himself as much as to his wife. He knew many a man was crushed under life's burdens, making him endlessly grateful for the Church and his faith which sustained him. "Perhaps it is not what happens in the past but how we interpret it that is problematic," he offered as an idea. _Who would I have become if not for Father Keegan?_ he asked himself. He was grateful for the old priest's influences on his young mind and moral development.

He also knew Julia had been able to help people overcome their pasts. "I wonder," he asked, "… could something have changed this…stopped her?..." A shiver race up his back: they were talking about the corpse slung inches away from his spine.

"I suppose we will never know…What's wrong?" she asked, turning to him with her brows knitted in concern.

 _Julia must have caught my expression_. He was too tired to guard all his emotions it seemed. _Then again, she is pretty good at reading me by now…probably better than she lets on,_ he admitted to himself. He decided on honesty for his reply. "Julia, you said earlier you felt guilty. I feel guilty as well."

"William! Why? I told you before, the fault is in her. You did nothing wrong, nothing to invite her attentions…" Julia protested.

He shook his head. "I know that, yes. What I mean is, with Terrance Meyers dead, er… gone… I should have suspected that Miss Pearce would resurface. He was keeping her at bay, I believe, more for his own ends than to help us, but without Meyers to keep her in check I should have been on the lookout…"

It was her turn to shake her head. "William, none of us can know everything. Besides, I told you before I was going to refuse to be her victim, _anyone's_ victim again! She tried to separate us, thus make us weaker. Well, that did not work, did it?" She brought her horse closer to catch his left hand, squeezing it firmly. "Speaking of which, where is my bow? When we remounted I noticed that it is not with us…"

Suddenly honesty was not his preferred tactic. William did not look up at her and fidgeted with the reins. "We have everything we need to satisfy the Crown - her body, the weapon she used to shoot you and my knife you used to defend yourself. Nothing else from that cabin is relevant." He did not want his own humiliation on record or any further stain on Julia's reputation.

"William. I _shot_ her with my bow." Her blue eyes bored into his, and he was taken aback by her intensity. "And I missed," she said flatly.

William accepted that, discovering he was not surprised at her implication. And not upset either. He made sure she was listening to him. "Julia, Eva Pearce was a known killer with a gun. She tried to kill you. You were defending yourself in the course of rescuing me. Self-defense is not a crime." Julia kept blinking at him for several seconds. He noticed an obvious internal conflict mirrored in her face as he held her eyes unflinchingly. It seemed to him as if he was broadcasting these very thoughts: _Let me protect you...let me protect us, please, Julia, for both our sakes!_ He had no desire for an investigation, no desire for more than a perfunctory set of statements to the constabulary in order to close this chapter of their lives and move forward. They were bringing the killer of a police officer in and saving the crown the trouble and expense of a trial. Wasn't that enough?

His eyes never left her face. Soon, her own eyes became crumpled and watery, tears mixing with dirt as they slid down her cheeks and Julia started to sob. "Oh, William. I killed her…" He grabbed both sets of reins and stopped the horses to allow Julia a brief cry on his shoulder. _It was no wonder she needs to let go after everything that had happened._ When she was done she looked to him to be worn out.

He patted all his pockets before discovering he had nothing to wipe her nose with. Julia finding him out of handkerchiefs brought her a little hysterical giggle, so she wiped her eyes on his sleeve. "I still want to know where my bow is. I loved that bow…" She grimaced, "Although I may not feel the same way about it again…"

William let the silence settle around them, choosing his next words carefully so he would not have to lie. "Julia, I have no idea exactly where all your equipment is." The fact that he broke it up and burned it in the stove, pocketed the findings and then scattered the ash far and wide made that technically true. The metal pieces he dropped bit by bit along the road or tossed into the fields and woods they passed through. If anyone could expertly erase or destroy an item, it was going to be William Murdoch. He judged his conscience to be clear, especially since the bow and quiver were not actually _evidence_ of anything, and certainly no crime. Along with the gun and knife which _were_ evidence, he retained the arrow shaft that struck Miss Pearce, _just in case_ , but had no plans to turn it over unless it came to that. And he was going to do everything possible to assure it _never_ would come to that.

 _Anything to protect Julia_. The words were like a prayer chanted endlessly in the back of his weary brain.

"Where do you think it might be?" he asked mildly.

Julia continued to lean into him, and sighed before answering. "I suppose it could have come off the horse while we were riding. If so, it could be anywhere. And it was a very nice set so it might have been picked up by someone already."

William had no answer for that.

Her curiosity apparently satisfied, she straightened away from him and picked up her horse's reins. "We should continue. I am feeling very tired and want to get back soon." She opened her coat part way. "The blood is coming through again, and we are out of water-I drank the last of it."

The miles merged into an endless loop of sameness, taking all William's efforts to keep Julia on her horse and himself remaining upright. William, never a natural conversationalist, made a valiant attempt to keep her engaged with the exploits of one Constable George Crabtree, his aunties, his fantastical ideas, or suggestion for retail products, but even that petered out eventually; the cold, lack of sleep and food, plus injuries sapped their energy, reducing them to a rather dazed silence. The slow pace wound down to an even slower one when Julia finished the last available dose of laudanum, since anything quicker on horseback caused her more pain. He saw her slump a third time then push herself up with a grunt. _She may be determined, but she is fading again…_ his own thoughts were blunted from fatigue.

"Julia," he leaned over, catching her horse's bridle, "perhaps we can ride together…or should we take a break?" He was so focused on _her_ , he was only vaguely aware a carriage stopped ahead on the road.

It took a moment to realize Crabtree was excitedly poking him. "Sir. _Sir!_ There are two riders coming this way. _Look!_ I think it's them, Detective Murdoch and is that Dr. Ogden?"

"Oh, for the love of God!" Thomas shouted, thinking it was a bloody miracle to run across them like this. He yelled at Hicks to stop.

Indeed, plodding slowly towards them were two figures, obviously tired and letting the horses do most of the work of staying on the path and moving towards Toronto and home.

William peered through blurred eyes as George and Inspector Brackenreid emerged from the box.

Relief barely registered. _Finally… I wondered when we'd see anyone…_

Crabtree was out of the carriage even before it stopped, going to help Dr. Ogden, who appeared dangerously close to coming off her mount. "Doctor. Are you all right?" he asked as he got her down and steadied her. "I'll help you to the carriage."

He shared a look with Julia who nodded back. William saw the inspector approach and take in the gory trophy tied to the back of his horse. _He's going to ask the question,_ William knew, because had played this scene out in his imagination countless times from as many angles as his experience offered.

Thomas quickly overcame his pleasure and relief at seeing them both alive, when he saw how utterly exhausted the couple were, and catalogued their injuries. He thought Dr. Ogden looked like she was barely holding on and Murdoch wasn't much better, pale and shivering as he got stiffly down from his horse, unable to use his right hand. He took in the corpse-shaped bundle, tied and slung behind Murdoch's saddle, one end a gory red mess, having dripped blood all down the side of the horse's flank. _Bloody Hell!_ He thought when he saw more blood on Dr. Ogden's horse, a great hand print from where she swiped some off while getting down. _This is bad, very very bad._ The sour sensation in his stomach and metallic taste in his mouth reasserted themselves.

Hicks looked after the doctor's horse as Crabtree took her slowly to the relative safety and comfort of the carriage while Thomas took Murdoch aside.

Making sure Hicks was preoccupied and not listening in, Thomas licked his dry lips and made himself ask what happened.

 _There it is_. William noticed exactly how Brackenreid framed his inquiry. They had worked together long enough so that in certain cases the _unspoken_ was as relevant as what was said out loud; circumstances like this which surpassed rank or even the law, instead resting in the honour and trust between them.

"Eva Pearce tried to kill Julia, and she didn't succeed," Murdoch answered in a hollow, gravelly voice. "Can we just leave it at that?"

He saw that Murdoch was appealing to him for understanding, or at least some time to get it all sorted out. Thomas hesitated only briefly. "Of course we can," he said, and hoped to the devil it could be true. "Go and be with her." He pointed to Dr. Ogden and the carriage, immediately starting to wonder if it was going to be possible to get back to Toronto tonight. "Driver!" he called after Hicks, and started arranging for Murdoch's horses to be tied to the back of the carriage, gristly luggage and all.

William handed the horses over and stepped up into the carriage next to Julia, feeling his physical and mental tension subside as soon as he sat down, leaving him completely spent. He was not sure what had kept the two of them going outside of sheer willpower, but whatever it was he counted it as a blessing. _Julia is safe and we are going to get to the hospital, Lord willing!_ He was very optimistic this whole mess was getting behind them, managinga grin when she asked if he'd still be building their new house.

" **I will, I will,"** he promised. Julia snuggled into his shoulder for comfort and warmth. The inspector located a blanket to cover them, after apologizing there was no extensive medical kit with them to tend to Julia's wounds.

"We came prepared for some things, but not all." Brackenreid said with meaning. William was grateful to him and George, politely offering thanks for the lift, getting a curse and a chuckle from his superior about how difficult it was to get good help these days. _Some things are getting to feel normal again_ , he observed, the Yorkshireman's humor dissipated any remaining awkwardness.

"Thank you again, Inspector." He handed over the gun and knife, which Brackenreid placed into a box on the carriage box floor. "About the evidence, do you think…?" William was gently cut off from voicing his list of questions about the case or any part of the investigation.

"Detective. All that can wait until we get you home." Brackenreid pointed to Julia, who was already asleep in William's arms. "She needs rest, not the two of us jabbering around and it looks to me you could use some shut-eye yourself. We have quite a ways to go to get us back in the city, even travelling faster than you two were going."

William forced his mind to work. "The men need to know we are safe and call off the search for Miss Pearce. I also want the hospital to be aware Julia is on her way back."

Brackenreid nodded as he settled back into his seat. "Okay, Murdoch. We'll get you there. Once we get closer to Toronto I'll have our driver, Hicks, take one of the horses on ahead. Crabtree can drive us first to the hospital then back to Wilton Street." The inspector gestured to Julia and lowered his voice to a whisper. "In the meantime, rest."

William returned a grateful smile and settled back himself. After a while, the horse-and-carriage rhythm created a soothing, hypnotic pull on his battered sensibilities. _There was nothing more to say to the inspector_ , he considered, _nothing that could not wait for the formality of the station house after Julia got medical attention._ He adjusted his shoulder-Julia appeared to be sleeping peacefully against him, not even rousing when the quiet of the countryside gave way to the noise of outlying habitations. His heart was glad for that, thinking she needed the rest to recuperate.

William noticed the remainder of his worry lift the closer they approached the city, pushing his natural optimism to the fore. He started feeling more like himself: confident, in command of the facts with a clear head.

Therefore, he started daydreaming. _Everything is going to work out as it should,_ he imagined _. Julia will get checked out at the hospital and be home in a few days at the most._ _I will be back at work, if not tomorrow then the next day._ He smiled to himself. _I will make another appointment at the bank to surprise Julia with a contract for our house_. His new take on the whole ordeal was that it was only a couple days of trouble, over and done, retreating into the past the way that cabin in the woods was receding with the miles.

William checked on Julia for the umpteenth time. _She is right where she should be-in my arms, resting in love_. Even the inspector dozed a bit on the seat opposite, content to let the horses do their work.

William refused to give in to sleep, but for some reason the sway of the carriage bench brought to mind an old porch swing on his aunt's farm, something he had not thought about in years. It was made of hard wooden slats and creaked when any weight was put on it. So long ago, sitting there with his little sister curled against him, the swing always provided a sense of belonging or consolation for the two of them that was missing _inside_ the home. Oh, it wasn't that his aunt was unkind, he recognized. She offered space at her hearth for her abandoned niece and nephew: there was food, shelter, Church and a few books… better yet, the house was quiet and orderly, free from the chaos he and Susannah expected from their erratic father. His aunt, God bless her, was correct and did her Christian duty…however the woman was the very definition of dour. William took it upon himself to provide some kind of emotional support for his sister, who had literally wept for days after their mother died and their father abruptly shuttled them off to their aunt's before departing for places unknown. His aunt made it clear that such caterwauling was unacceptable because it was proof of faithlessness in Christ.

William recalled having no words to soothe Susannah. His eight years left him totally unequipped to explain the meaning of death and workings of adults to a devastated five-year-old, rendering him powerfully mute…

William sighed… _A characteristic which followed me into adulthood_. At the time, he merely held his sister until she cried herself out, then set them both to saying their prayers because it was the only vestige of their previous life. His own feelings about finding their mother, face down and dead in the stream, or about being ripped from their house and placed with strangers, were locked tightly away in order to be strong for his sister, who clung to him day and night. It took patient coaxing to get her to sleep in her own bed and allow him to go to school without her bursting into tears, and even more effort on his part to not show his own raw feelings when he had to leave her. e _Later on, of course, I understood her clinginess was out of fear I would abandon her as well; with hindsight I also must admit I needed_ _her_ _to cling to_ _me_ _as much, sharing the same aversion about being suddenly parted…_

A flash of sadness overtook him. In his mind he was walking down a narrow church aisle with Susannah dressed in her habit, to pray together for the very last time…

William's chest squeezed. He hugged Julia closer to banish the sharp dig of loss _. I am not going to lose Julia too_. He exhaled and shook that off, making himself fix instead on more pleasant memories.

For a mutual distraction William remembered teaching Susannah to read using their mother's Bible, the only legacy she had to leave them. He also made her little toys or 'experiments' out of discarded scraps of this and that to occupy her when they were done with chores. He and Susannah spent untold hours in these pursuits, probably setting the path of their lives so early on.

He laughed to himself now at how ridiculous he had been then, although Julia said it was "charming" when he confessed to her about it. William shifted on the seat and interrupted his own mental meanderings with a frown. Julia once asked him why he still read the Bible regularly, considering he had, after all, memorized it in its entirety. He answered, telling her by repeating the familiar words it calmed him by pushing all other thoughts away. _Today,_ _upon reflection,_ _I know it was also probably because that was the sanity I gravitated to during a turbulent childhood, as I have used scripture whenever I am troubled or stressed... Like over the last two days._

 _# # #_

Thomas was grateful when the carriage finally entered Toronto proper, riding once again on level, well-lit streets and up the lane towards Toronto General. Crabtree had volunteered to drive while Hicks took the second horse to ride ahead to alert the hospital that Dr. Ogden was coming in, and then on to let the lads at the station house know that Murdoch and his wife were rescued and Eva Pearce was, unfortunately (or fortunately) dead. The ride was a silent one, mostly out of courtesy to allow the good doctor rest. Thomas was feeling pretty good about it all, taking the few hours' quiet time to formulate what he was going to put in his report and what he would tell the inevitable newspaper reporters. He imagined Margaret being proud of him as well, and that lifted his heart to know he did the right thing and got nearly the best results possible. There would be some loose strings, of course, but being able to say the killer of a police officer was not only captured but dead, would satisfy most of the concerned citizens and, more importantly, the chain of command at the constabulary. _"Might even make up for that set-to I had with the alderman,"_ Thomas thought smugly, _"silly prick that he is…"_

William's wool-gathering was disturbed as their carriage slowed. He looked outside, noticing Toronto proper for the first time, and that they were travelling along well-lit and level streets. He sighed contentedly, and snuck a kiss to Julia's head, refusing to be embarrassed about showing his wife affection in front of his superior. His thoughts focused on her, and his happiness: _My love, we are here, back where we belong. I promised to take care of you in sickness and in health… and I will. This time tomorrow this will all be resolved, I promise that too_. He was back in his element, feeling better about himself even considering his right hand was excruciatingly painful if he forgot and tried to use it.

Across from him, Inspector Brackenreid straightened and groaned. "I think we're here, Murdoch."

The horses turned up the hospital drive and came to a halt by the curb. It was snowing lightly with large flakes illuminated by amber light from the hospital windows. The inspector rousted himself up and out the door allowing a frigid blast of air to burst into the carriage.

Thomas, stiff and sore, was holding the door for the detective and his wife, thinking he was _too old for this shite._ He caught himself with a wide smile on his face fantasizing about a nice hot bath followed by a hot meal.

 _We did it, Julia. We believed in each other. We made it! Thank God!_ William sent a prayer to the All Mighty for their deliverance.

William found the cold invigorated him from the stupor of the long ride. He stretched his legs and pulled himself up, slowly moving his protesting joints, and pushed the blanket aside. He shook Julia softly on her shoulder. "Julia…Julia we are here. Wake up." He spoke in her ear, and brushed the hair away from her face to reveal her velvety cheeks, the way he had done a hundred times in the mornings.

He waited for the little sounds she usually made when she was waking and smiled tenderly. _She is sleeping so soundly it is a shame to have to arouse her, but I know she will be more comfortable in a bed than curled up in a carriage and her wound certainly needs professional attention beyond what she herself could give it_.

He stroked her face gently again with the back of his fingers. "Julia. Wake up. The doctors are waiting for you…" He knew by experience that Julia took longer to be conscious and alert than he did in the morning. William usually woke up with his mind fully functioning and immediately capable of intelligent conversation, often trying to engage her in a discussion about a case or an idea he had, well before she was really ready to hear about it. More than once she complained he should know better than to do that before her first cup of tea. He was pleased by the memories. Waking up every day with Julia beside him was one of life's great joys for which he was endlessly, humbly grateful.

William quirked his mouth conspiratorially. _It also was not unheard of for her to pretend to still be asleep in order to invite my additional attentions to rouse her…ending with amorous results more often than not._

William could not imagine that was the case right at the moment. He changed position so he could get his face closer to hers. "I know it's hard, but we have to go inside now…" She was not answering. His contentment evaporated with a frown. _Something is wrong…_ he told himself with worry.

He pushed her completely upright against the carriage seat. When her head flopped back, he tried to wake her by tapping her face and raising his voice. "Julia…?" _Nothing is working…_

William's chest constricted in alarm. _No…No… NO! This_ _cannot_ _be…_ . He got out of the seat and knelt beside it so she was laid out on the bench. "Julia?..." He firmly rubbed his knuckles on her sternum, shaking her whole body and calling her name. Fear and anguish roared within him, automatically snatching his breath and hammering his heart.

 _Oh,_ _Dear God, she's not asleep…_ Tears collected on his face.

" _Sir! It's Julia… I can't wake her…"_

 _ **# # # #**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

 _ **Toronto**_

He wasn't quite sure if it was the pounding on his door or the insistent ringing of the telephone that roused him to his duty, only that his head was foggy from fatigue. The case he'd been working on, complicated and dangerous, did not get settled 'till the wee hours, after which he went home to flop down on his bed in stupefying exhaustion, unmindful of the effects on his trousers. The last thing he wanted or needed was to be called out again due to a tragedy in someone else's life.

He dragged himself upright, got his feet back into shoes and ignored the telephone which had, in any case, stopped ringing. The door-pounding and yelling had not, and if anything was crescendoing higher. Running a hand through his hair he checked his watch: he'd been home barely two hours. "I'm coming!" he hollered, sure he could not possibly be heard over the din the man was making outside.

He braced himself for a moment, bringing to mind his chosen responsibilities and settled his shoulders to prepare for whatever emergency was on the other side of the flimsy wood, which was at the present moment threatening to splinter from the beating it was taking from without. Pulling the doorknob inward, a smelly, disheveled man fell forward from the force of his knocking once the barrier of the door was removed. The stranger was wild eyed and gasping, suddenly out of speech upon coming face to face with the one he sought, chest heaving from exertion.

"Yes? What is it you want?" he asked, hoping to get some sense out of his alarmed visitor. He propped the distressed man back up, feeling a frisson of disquiet shoot through him. Slowly, he recognized first the eyes, and then features hidden behind a scruff of reddish-beard and white-faced fear… Someone he recognized emerged from the dirty, battered figure before him, whose left hand was shaking while painfully gripping his arm.

The man took in a breath and tried to steady himself, unable to get the quaver out of his voice or gather any shred of dignity to bear under the circumstances.

" _She is dying."_ William Murdoch rasped out, hoarse from shouting.

"What are you talking about, detective?" He stood there, uncomprehending, blinking back at the odd sight in front of him, thinking this must be part of a very bad dream.

"It's _Julia._ Doctor Tash, you must come, right  now! _Before it is too late."_

# # #

 _ **Toronto General Hospital Room 442**_

"How long has she been like this?" Dr. Isaac Tash asked. He wanted as much information as possible before arriving at Julia's side to start formulating a treatment plan, needing to get himself oriented and focused. His lethargy had fled, replaced by adrenalin. He and Detective Murdoch jostled together uncomfortably while taking tight corners in a hansom the other man was furiously driving through the dark streets of Toronto, pushing the horse to its equine limits. The carriage wheels skittered but the rig did not tip. _Yet…_ _Heaven help anyone who gets in our way,_ he thought.

The story Julia's husband laid out in succinct fashion was nearly unbelievable: Gut-shot and in a coma, Julia woke up, snuck out of the hospital and rode out to the near-wilderness, finding the deranged woman who shot her and kidnapped the detective, winding up killing the other woman to save her own life. _Almost unbelievable… but this_ _was_ _Julia Ogden they were talking about._ He was still absorbing the news, having been out of town while the whole business was going on, or he would have insisted on attending to her care in the first place, _certainly_ tried to prevent her from such a reckless, impulsive act. He grimaced: _Although I know no one who ever restrained Julia once she has her mind set._

Murdoch continued. "That is the problem. I just thought she was asleep in the carriage ride back to Toronto. She was ill, in pain, and obviously exhausted from her ordeal. We did not say much to each other on the journey home. I just believed…" He shook his head angrily. "I just thought she was giving herself the opportunity to sleep, so I let her, just held her next to me. It was only when we got back to Toronto and we tried to rouse her that it was clear to me there was even more going on." He whistled the horse faster now that they were on a macadamed section of road. "The doctors at Toronto General are arguing about what to do, so they are doing _nothing_ and she is slipping away…" His voice cracked.

"What have they done so far and what are the competing treatments?" the doctor asked.

"After removing the bullets and running the bowel to sew up any perforations, they gave her mercury for infection and laudanum for pain. She was lucky: the shots were not through and through, the only debris in the wound was from her silk robes, and the small calibre bullets managed to tear just a small hole in her colon." William flatly relayed what he had been told.

Hearing that, Tash knew there were no "small holes" in intestines and being gut-shot was often a death sentence; he suspected the detective knew that as well.

The detective continued. "She lost a lot of blood so they did a transfusion."

Dr. Tash's eye brows shot up. "That can be fatal if…"

"Yes. But we knew for certain that it would be all right—from a case Julia and I worked on…" His face clouded. "Julia gave herself some sort of unknown treatment—I found the evidence of an injection she apparently she self-administered, to get her stable enough for her intentions to ride out. Now her breathing and pulse are weak, and I insisted the doctors use one of those new sphygmomanometers improved by Riva-Rocce to monitor her blood pressure." He related the facts dispassionately until this point, anger and despair colouring his voice now. "The situation currently is as follows: one wants to bleed her, one wants to pack her in ice, one is considering leeches of all things and one wants to open her up again. The only thing I am sure of is that I don't want her to have any more mercury or opium-based medications, which turns out is the only thing all four of them agree is necessary for her to have. I'm afraid that the other thing they agree on is that I am interfering with her care…" He trailed off.

The doctor read the other man's guilt and fear. "Detective," Tash said as they came up to the hospital entrance, "our Julia… _your_ Julia, is as strong a person as I ever met." He squeezed Murdoch's gloved right hand for encouragement, causing the detective to yelp in pain. "What is wrong with your hand?" he asked.

"It is nothing," was the reply. "Please go directly to her, Dr. Tash. You saved her life once... I am counting on you saving her again, God willing. Please…"

Tash felt the desperate sincerity in Murdoch's plea. "I will do my best," he answered, alighting from the cab even before it fully stopped. Running up the steps he hoped he could actually do something that was going to be helpful, recalling the last time he treated Julia was an awful nightmare of guessing and waiting; less for the medicine or treatment to work and more to see if her constitution was going to rally or collapse. Assurances to her husband aside, it sounded dire and he prayed it was not too late even now…

# # #

From Julia's hospital room doorway, Tash recognized Inspector Brackenreid, who was arguing most insistently with Dr. Warren. He had already heard contentious noise coming down the corridor before ever gaining the room. Inspector and doctor were squared off, mirroring each other in size and demeanor with crossed arms over their chests and jaws thrust forward, eyes staring daggers at each other, planted in place like a beefy set of forged andirons in a great hearth, with Julia and the bed representing the logs about to be set ablaze. "I understand what you are telling me doctor, but I must disagree. Dr. Ogden's husband is sending for her own personal physician, and that is the only one he trusts to see to her. Furthermore he trusted me to make sure no one else touched her until that doctor gets here." The inspector pointed to a tray in the doctors hands. "That, whatever the Bloody Hell _that_ is, comes nowhere near this dear lady, do I make myself clear?"

Dr. Tash intervened before anything could escalates any further. "Gentlemen!" he said sharply. Dr. Warren and Inspector Brackenreid struggled to disengage. Both recognized Tash at the same time, simultaneously complaining about the unreasonableness of the other. "Gentlemen!" he tried again, holding up a hand. "Dr. Warren, may I speak with you in a moment, outside please?"

Warren gave a last harrumph towards the inspector and stalked off. Before Tash could speak, Brackenreid launched at him. "Where have you been? We'd been calling and calling. Did Murdoch find you?"

"I was on a case. And yes, he brought me here and I imagine will be along shortly. Now, if you will allow me, I must see to Dr. Ogden." Tash spoke firmly and with a confidence he did not feel, but it was enough to get the inspector to relinquish his role as guardian and leave him alone with his patient. He checked her pulse, listened to her heart, lungs and bowels, counted her respirations, pricked her feet, tested her reflexes, felt her forehead and looked at her pupils. Julia looked so small and fragile it was impossible to believe this was his forceful, vibrant friend. He thought about her husband: _No wonder he is so worried. I am worried too._

 _ **# # #**_

 _ **Toronto General Hospital room 442**_

 **… _._** _._ _"Sir! It's Julia… I can't wake her…"_

William was in brutal shock, playing that scene over and over in his head: Inspector Brackenreid helping him wrangle a limp, unresponsive Julia out of the carriage and running with her up slippery steps and into the front door of the hospital, down the long hallway, calling for help until one of the doctors intervened. A bed was located for his wife and then he was unceremoniously shoved out of the room while the hospital staff conferred. Every time the memory looped, William's spit dried even if his pulse no longer raced. He approached her room with trepidation.

Dr. Tash examined Julia. It was worse when he checked under her bandages. To his eye, her wounds appeared inflamed, possibly starting to be infected, but none were obviously suppurating. There was no foul odor, indicating no severe infection was already taking hold. When he pressed on the area it did not feel right however, with his immediate guess being an internal bleed or abscess forming. On an abstract level he took in how her flesh was marred, as much by what he imagined the gunshots to have done, as by the efforts of the surgeons to find the bullets, get rid of dirt in the wound and sew her up. Her skin bristled with the ends of silk stitches indicating where there would be a network of star-shaped pock-marks and longer scars that were never going to fade. Behind him he heard a scuffle of feet and a low moan.

Detective Murdoch came up behind him, wincing at the sight of his wife's wounds.

 _Too late to hide this from him now,_ the doctor decided. He gestured to the detective to draw beside him, and pointed to the right side of Julia's abdomen.

William nervously licked his lips, trying to force everything else out of his awareness except what Dr. Tash was saying.

It wasn't working.

…Because William also replayed the near shouting match he had with Dr. Maharris. He was successful in getting Dr. Carlton to monitor her blood pressure, which only created controversy since her pressure was dangerously low, sending all four doctors arguing with each other about competing diagnoses and treatments for Julia.

Dr. Maharris was been blunt about the third area of agreement amongst the doctors, pronouncing in clipped, angry words: _"Mr. Murdoch. If you do not stop interfering with your wife's care, I can have you removed."_ The doctor drew himself up, stepping very close to William's face in an obvious attempt to intimidate him.

 _That doctor had no idea who he as dealing with,_ William observed. _Years of handling suspect interviews and dangerous criminals made it no contest at all._ He demolished the surgeon's arguments rather precisely and quietly, hoping for an opportunity to revisit their collective findings. Then the doctor retaliated:

" _Mr. Murdoch!"_ The man's voice rose and his face flushed in anger. _"You will either accept our recommendations, find another doctor, or you will take her home to die!"_

 _If not for the inspector's intervention,_ _I would have gladly throttled that pompous Dr. Maharris._ WhileWilliam was unhappy about that realization, he could not bring himself to regret the outburst.

He ordered himself to attend to what was directly in front of him, no differently than he would have during an investigation; more, perhaps, because more was at stake... _Julia._

She was his gravitational center, always, but right now Julia was lying so pale and still in the narrow hospital bed it unnerved him. Her usually strong hands with their active, probing, long and firm fingers, felt frail and bird-like in his own rough hand. _This is not my bright, active, Julia._ His chest felt heavy. _She was supposed to be all right. This was supposed to be all over,_ he complained to himself again… _Did all of this start only about four or five hours ago? How can that be? And how can we be back here again with Julia's life hanging in the balance?_

William shook that away. He placed all his hopes on Isaac Tash, the doctor he desperately wanted… _The one who saved Julia before, the only one who cares about her…_

"Detective…" Dr. Tash began.

"William, please doctor. Under the circumstances…" William took Julia's hand in his, brought it to his lips for a kiss, eyes searching her face for any flicker of recognition.

"Agreed. Isaac then, if you will, as well," he said, receiving a nod in return. "William, Julia has three gunshot wounds and an incision site where the surgeon opened her to check her bowel, sew her up and do his best to make sure she did not get septic. She is weak and unconscious but I don't think she is in an actual coma. See here?" He pulled her hand up and pinched the back of it, forming a little peak of skin that did not spring flat again very quickly. "This means she is dehydrated. Based on what you told me and what I observe, she had not eaten anything since you two had supper early Saturday evening. That is good actually in a way, because that meant she had less in her system, less in her gut when she was shot. She is thin, but healthy, so not eating for a few days won't hurt her. Not drinking plus bleeding out is more of a problem. Did she drink anything while she was with you?"

"Yes. We both drank our fill before starting for home and then she consumed the canteen we had—perhaps three pints?" He saw William try to visualize how much. "She did not eat anything, refused to actually, but let me put some honey in water for her—that seemed to help. She did bleed quite a bit, at least a half a pint I would guess, perhaps more, but that seemed to stop."

Tash thought this through. "She was smart. I think she needs fluids. I want to give her an intravenous saline solution to build up her blood volume. Then I want to investigate why her abdomen does not feel right. We may have to drain an abscess or draw out a small bleed, hopefully without having to operate again." He saw that William was accepting this so far without objection, but he hesitated to go further.

William saw the temporizing. "What is it… er…Isaac?"

Tash sighed, acutely aware of what he was asking for touched on so many unspoken issues between them. "I am given to understand you told the hospital staff that I was the only person you trusted with Julia's care. Was that accurate, or did someone mischaracterize your thoughts on the matter?" He narrowed his eyes. "Or was it Julia who asked for me?"

There was no hesitation in the response. Tash saw William try to draw himself up as if he were taking an oath or giving testimony in a court room. "Dr. Tash… Isaac, those are my exact words and my true feelings. I meant it when I asked you to save her again. I know she trusts _you_ , and I trust _her._ She needs someone who knows and cares about her, someone who is as up-to-date in training and modern in thinking as she is. I can think of no one else better qualified than yourself."

"I see." Tash took another look at Julia's wounds. _Trust deserved truth_ , he thought. The doctor recognized that was the only approach for Julia's husband.

William braced himself to face the bare facts the man was telling him. "She did herself no favours taking on trying to rescue you. It might have killed her." Dr. Tash touched Julia's forehead gently, then turned and levelled his gaze at William, pausing to take in a breath.

William kept his shoulders back and met the other man's large hazel eyes squarely with his own. _Here it comes,_ he thought. _Dr. Tash is above all else honourable, honest and direct. That is why Julia trusts him and why I must as well; this is, after all, what I asked for._

"It might yet…" Dr. Tash concluded.

William felt his colour drain as a bitter sensation washed through him, leaving him staggered and unable to breathe. He automatically rocked backward, as if in protection against the onslaught, or a futile method to deny the truth. He did all he could to wrap the last remnants of his composure around his shattered heart, using everything he possessed to absorb and accept Julia's grim prognosis in order to not fly apart like so much explosive wreckage.

Dr. Tash's pronouncement buzzed endlessly in his brain. ' _It might yet kill her…It still might kill her… Kill her…Kill her…'_

 _Good God_ , _what have I done?_ William's head pounded and he ground his teeth so hard the noise startled a nearby orderly. Dr. Tash's words were in perfect, awful harmony to his own thoughts during his frantic ride to the doctor's house and back again to the hospital. _"I did this…I did this...I did this…"_ filled his mind over and over to the hoof-beats of the horse as he drove the animal onward. He'd nearly splintered Tash's door and dragged the man out of it by his collar - and would have except the doctor was instantly agreeable to come for Julia's sake.

For William, time was telescoping again while the room wavered around him. One part of his brain demanded: _The doctor is waiting for a response._ The other part howled in raw anger and despair; he felt the tears forming but did not move to brush them away. It mattered not that he knew his thoughts were irrational: he _was_ irrational at the moment and there was no help for it. _It also does no good…_ he thundered at himself in his head. He had no place to put the unaccustomed rage so he pointed it at himself: It was the only escape from overwhelming guilt…

 _The truth is, this is my fault. I failed to protect Julia and we have come now to this. The truth is the truth... May God have mercy,_ William prayed.

He saw the concern on Dr. Tash's patiently waiting face. _I need to answer,_ he urged himself, _if only I can make myself speak_. William worked his throat to swallow, but his mouth was dry. _Courage, acceptance and God's Will... I must trust this man._

"Yes," was all William said back, his eyes never leaving the doctor's face while he tried to keep his voice from cracking.

Dr. Tash nodded, shifting his shoulders slightly. "I am going to agree with you about the mercury, _and_ the laudanum, at least for now until she wakes and we see how much pain she is in. Believe it or not I am thinking about leeches for the pooling blood, and iodine and sugar for the incision site infection."

William flinched at the suggestions, but could not object. _If Dr. Tash deems it necessary, so be it._ He mutely nodded.

The doctor looked critically at William's right hand. "Unless I miss my guess, your hand is severely injured and you have gotten no attention for it. Can you even get that glove off?"

William lowered his eyes. The black leather gloves procured from the cabin barely fit his right hand after the swelling had gone down with application of cold. He got the left one off, but the right was stubbornly stuck. He'd had no time nor inclination to attend to it because it was not as important as Julia. _Nothing is…_

"Umm…no I can't. I believe it is broken, or perhaps some of the bones are…." He shrugged. The wild carriage ride to fetch Dr. Tash served to further agitate his hand, which at the moment did rather insistently jab and throb.

"William," Dr. Tash said kindly. "I will take care of Julia, but I will need your help, _she_ will need it, and you can't do that if you are not tended to. Please get someone to look at that hand before the circulation is completely cut off, while I get to work."

William's attention slid towards Julia and he dug his mental heels in, shaking his head. _What if she wakes up, what if she needs me?_ He looked around for some excuse to stay, something he could do that would benefit her, some role in her recovery _._ _All of this is beyond me, beyond my ability to do something about it… to fix this….to fix her… fix Julia!_

He started to argue: "I have to do something…!" Until he saw the look of pity in the doctor's face, and abruptly stopped.

Dr. Tash appeared to understand. "You can do nothing here for her right now; when you get back we will both sit down and discuss the next stages of her recovery. You are an intelligent man, well-versed in the sciences and I would guess have absorbed more than your share of medical knowledge from Julia. We will find something." William thought Isaac spoke about it optimistically, looking at Julia and back again at him. "Julia would agree with me, however, that recovery depends as much, or more, on factors outside the doctor's control."

The doctor seemed to think he said more than he should have, and frowned suddenly, placing a hand on his shoulder, speaking emphatically. "William, please understand that there are no guarantees, other than I will do whatever in medical science it takes to help Julia. You have my word on that. This is going to be a long process. Honestly, perhaps it will take a miracle."

Hearing those words, William's anguish loosened its iron grip enough for him to take in the first full breath he'd managed in days. _Faith and Hope, I will have to live with that._ He gently touched Julia's face with the back of his fingers then turned to his companion, face set and determined, then exhaled. "Well, but doctor, I am a Catholic. We believe in miracles."

# # #

 _ **Toronto General Hospital**_

Thomas was now deposited outside the doctor's hospital room door, having her turned over to Dr. Tash's safe-keeping and made sure that Murdoch and the doctor would not be disturbed by leaving a constable on guard outside the room. That was four, heart-stopping, hours ago.

He was totally wrung out, the combination of emotional whip-sawing and physical depletion culminating in a certain numbness he recognized as being akin to battle fatigue. He could imagine, as well, what Murdoch must be going through, as the detective and Dr. Tash discussed what to do about his unresponsive wife. Thomas considered staying long enough to hear what Murdoch had to say the plan was, but thought the better of it: he had his own wife to tend to, and the doctor and detective were in good hands.

Leaning against the wall by a radiator to get warm before departing for home, he was glad this was over. All the paperwork and reports could wait until he had a meal, a wash and a good sleep. He spied Higgins coming along the hallway and smiled at the lad, hoping this was his ride home. "Ah! Higgins. Come to fetch me back to my wife, are you?"

"Sir. I have a carriage for you, and I have some clothes for Detective Murdoch from his office." Constable Higgins hoisted a bag by way of explanation for what he was carrying. "I also have a message from the morgue. Miss James would like a word with your before you head home."

Thomas was annoyed. "Can't it wait 'till morning?" He checked his watch and frowned. "That's not very long from now."

"She said that it would not take long but that you would want to know. I think she has finished the preliminary autopsy and wants to report her results before you head home." Higgins shrugged and smiled wryly. "I think she learned a little _too well_ from Dr. Ogden and Detective Murdoch, if you know what I mean…"

Thomas offered a sympathetic, frustrated smile, then thanked Higgins and found the carriage waiting outside. He hauled himself into it and settled for the ride back to the station house and Morgue, deciding that is was perhapsbetter to get the preliminary results now so that when he got to work first thing in the morning he could field any inquired and rapidly conclude his own preliminary investigation.

 **# # #**

 _ **Toronto General Hospital**_

Dr. Tash gave William the rest of his initial evaluation of Julia's condition, before sending him on his way to get his hand looked after. Since there was only one other doctor available with whom he was on good terms, a Dr. Ian Braddock, William submitted to that man's attentions to his hand. Braddock, tall and red-haired, worked efficiently and carefully, cutting off the glove and keeping up a running commentary about how fascinating hands were and how so much goes on in such a small space. His diagnosis was that three of the five metacarpals were broken.

"Six to eight weeks!?" William did not like the sound of how long it would interfere with his job, never mind building their house, and said so when Braddock was done splinting the palm.

"More, Mr. Murdoch, if you don't let it set properly and if you do not work on the stretching after the bones knit. You are lucky there is no infection, and no ruptures. You must keep the hand immobile and elevated. I imagine it is painful, so I have some laudanum…" William thanked Dr. Braddock but declined the medication, and hurried back to join Julia. He crept into her room to see the intravenous fluids entering her, and Dr. Tash monitoring her pulse rate and blood pressure.

William approached and waited until the doctor completed his examination. "Doctor Tash, how is she?" William sat gingerly on the side of the bed, taking up Julia's lifeless hand again and pressing it to his lips.

"Isaac, William, I insist you call me Isaac under the circumstances. It seems to me we have something in common, don't you agree?" he pointed out. "Are we not her two closest, fiercest advocates?" The doctor waited until William's attention was more or less captured by this idea before continuing. "Both of us…"

William held up his good hand, and gave a half smile. "Both of us will do anything to protect Julia, no matter the cost. Yes, er…Isaac, we do indeed have that in common."

"And, our past differences…" the doctor kept his gaze mild, unchallenging.

"…Are, I believe, in the past," William stated honestly and simply. He saw that Dr. Tash... _Isaac_... accepted that. _Someday I'll take the opportunity to tell the man why I let it go and never charged him with performing abortions. Someday I'll tell him that it was not Julia that changed my mind, but being able to imagine that poor girl, desperate, alone and bleeding to death and how terrible that was to understand exactly what women do to avoid a pregnancy._

Furthermore, Isaac had saved Julia's life, for which he had no adequate words of gratitude. He knew this was a good man and that Julia liked, trusted, respected, and even loved as a friend.

William could think of no better recommendation than that. He found a larger smile to give the doctor. "And I believe it would please Julia to know that we are working together, would it not?" He maintained the doctor's gaze for another moment before being drawn again to observe Julia. "Isaac, can you tell me more about her condition and what we can do to help her?"

Isaac had accurately guessed William possessed more than rudimentary medical knowledge, enhanced by years of reading medical journals, autopsy results and his association with Julia. More than once Julia actually teased him that he could likely complete and autopsy if he had to, or perform basic emergency medical care. However his ability to memorize facts and recall visual information was an intellectual exercise; he had very little practical experience and had no trouble deferring to his betters, assuming their ideas were not outlandish or scientifically unsound. Isaac treated him as a partner in their quest to make Julia well, which William quite appreciated.

William also saw his companion was organizing his thoughts before speaking. _Something else we have in common,_ he noted with approval.

Isaac explained. "Yes, well. The fluids I am giving her will build up her blood volume, but whole blood is better. I hesitate to take more from you, but if you are willing to eat and hydrate yourself, we can try later today, er… or tomorrow. Even a little will help. Just adding fluids does not replace what blood does to nourish the body." Isaac moved the blankets and showed William the area of Julia's abdomen that concerned him. "Then I am going to figure out why this does not feel right and try and correct it. You can stay with me while I do that…"

 **# # #**

 _ **City Morgue**_

By the time he was walking down the ramp to the autopsy bay, Thomas was weary again but resigned to his duty. "Miss James. You have something to report?" Thomas dispensed with any niceties, getting directly to the point.

The young woman looked up from her desk, a worried look pinching her face. "Ah, Inspector. How is Dr. Ogden?"

"She is with her doctor as we speak. Getting the best of care I imagine." Thomas answered truthfully, embarrassed that he had not thought to reassure he immediately. "What have you to tell me?"

Miss James opened a file. "I have three things to report. First: the bullets taken from Dr. Ogden match the bullets from the gun you retrieved from Miss Pearce. I assisted Constable Crabtree assisted with the findings, and I believe his report will also show her fingermarks were on the weapon, and only hers. He gave me the opportunity to inform you, but his official report will be on your desk in the morning. "

Hearing that, Thomas's gut unclenched a bit. _Well, that leaves Murdoch in the clear, or at least at should._ He was surprised at his reaction, not realizing he was harbouring anxiety about it.

Miss James continued. "Next I have a report on the cause of death of Constable Worsley: blunt force trauma. I can confirm that the weapon has blood on it, as well as hair consistent with the constable's. I also have the preliminary autopsy on Miss Pearce. I can say with certainty that she was stabbed to death with the weapon you supplied and in the manner and angle that was described. She would have bled out within perhaps thirty to forty-five seconds after the carotid artery was cut. There would have been almost no way to save her."

 _That also fits with the story Murdoch sketched._ Relief washed over him. Thomas found he had a small return of energy, so he directed a beam of it her way. "Thank you very much, Miss James," he smiled, amazed at their good fortune. "Excellent work. If you could send your written reports over to my desk I will review them more carefully in the morning. And, thank you again for sticking with this, and I believe I can go home feeling we have this well on the way to being wrapped up." He turned to go, when Miss James stopped him.

"Do you want to hear about her other wounds?" she questioned.

"What other wounds? She was in a struggle and lost the fight, I imagine there may be other cuts or scratches…" Thomas looked at the young woman, who just shrugged at him apologetically. He gestured for her to continue.

Miss James told him, "Well, that does not explain this wound to her left shoulder. It looks like it was made by a long, rounded blade. I realize that I do not have the whole story, but nothing fits for that…" She left the words hanging.

Thomas prompted, "And…?"iggins anH

"Will it looks as if, before she was stabbed, Miss Pearce had been, I don't know, it sounds so silly…umm, _shot_ with an arrow, as if someone was, _hunting_ her…" Miss James smiled uncomfortably.

Thomas felt flooded with unexpected and unaccountable heat, unable to move as sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades, his heart pounding blood into his head. He struggled to think, with nothing useful coming to him.

Feeling his shoulders slumping wearily all he could whisper was: _"Oh, Bloody Hell!"_

 **# # #**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 _ **WEDNESDAY**_

 _ **Toronto General Hospital, Room 442**_

William spent the rest of the brief night and next morning comforting Julia, going so far as to hold her in that small bed while she shivered with fever. The nurses' objections to his behavior were silenced after he demonstrated he was competent enough to attend her and then they left him alone. He did not ask any of the hospital staff to help, changing the bed and sponging her brow as her needs dictated while monitoring her pulse, temperature, blood pressure and respirations as Isaac outlined, and carefully writing the measurements and data down on a clip board. Only later it occurred to him that Isaac may have done so to give him something concrete to do in order to feel useful.

 _Unfortunately,_ William sighed to himself, _nothing is changing. Julia is unresponsive._

William stood immediately when Isaac arrived a little after eleven A.M., attempting to run the fingers of his left hand through his hair and straighten the borrowed shirt an orderly had given him for decency's sake. "Good morning doctor, er…Isaac." He gestured to Julia. "She had a rough time with fever but that broke a few hours ago. There has been no more bleeding and here are the measurements you wanted me to take." William fetched the clip board and stood at attention while Isaac scanned the numbers, his right hand elevated on his left shoulder.

"Good. This is good, William. I am impressed you did all this one-handed as well. According to this," he tapped the hard surface of the board, "she is stable, not deteriorating and that is a positive sign."

He heard the doctor's words as well as the tone in which they were delivered. "Isaac, please tell me, what else do you really believe?"

Isaac paused, rechecking the collected data and then went over to do his own assessment of Julia's condition, her eyes, lungs, and heart. He opened her gown to check the wounds, smelled the incision sites, and pressed the lumpy area that troubled him yesterday. William saw the leeches had done their work and the lump was diminished. Isaac did all his probing without Julia moving a muscle. He put his stethoscope down and cleared his throat, unconsciously straightening himself. "William, your Julia has strong vital signs, considering… but while she is not in a coma per se," he returned to Julia and showed William she did respond to pain stimuli, "She is still unconscious and I consider her condition to be grave."

William remained at attention, holding himself stiffly erect to hide his disappointment. He had ached for different news. "What can we do?" William inquired, trying to fathom exactly what Isaac was not saying.

"We are going to monitor her just as we have…so far what we have done is working, but I must tell you is does not address if she has a septic infection brewing in her guts." He crossed his arms. "I wish I knew what Julia dosed herself with because I could then determine if it was helping and if I could do it again…"

William shrugged. "I know she has been experimenting with native remedies ever since I was shot and then cared for by an Indian healer. Something about bread mold, I believe. Do you think she has an internal infection?"

"I do not know but we are not giving up!" Isaac went on: "A simple paper cut can kill a man under certain circumstances, let alone wounds like Julia has. However, at this stage I hesitate to open her up to find out. As strong as she is, I am not certain she could survive another major surgery and I have no reason to take that step— _yet_."

" _..We are not giving up!"_ William liked the sound of that. He saw Isaac frown. "What about another transfusion?" he asked hopefully. Part of William knew he was grasping at straws, but he could not help himself. Before the doctor could answer, there was a knock at the door and George peered in.

"Oh, hello George. I, um… wasn't expecting you quite yet." William waved George in and then resumed his conversation with Isaac. "A transfusion?" he prompted.

"Yes, as long as you drink more fluids." He saw William nod. "You have done an admirable job caring for Julia, perhaps you'd feel better if you got cleaned up yourself?"

William looked down at his attire and flushed. "I will consider that."

Isaac put the clip board down and nodded. "Excellent. William, I will be back later with the transfusion equipment. Gentlemen, Good morning."

When the doctor closed the door behind him, George piped up. "How is she, sir?" He set his helmet down and unbuttoned his coat.

William carefully at Julia's face and skin, checked her breathing and shrugged. "Dr. Tash says she is stable at the moment," he went back to sit by Julia.

George dropped his voice. "Does he have any idea when she will wake up?"

William tried not to sigh or betray his distress. "No."

"Oh." George paused. "I am so sorry for what's happened and for all your troubles." The man's expressive face was sad and worried.

William grimaced and tried to turn it into a smile of gratitude, not sure he succeeded. "Thank you, George. At least we have our lives, more than can be said for Constable Worsley, God rest his soul." William turned again to look more intently at George, focusing on the case for distraction. "I assume you are here to take my official statement?" William spent many hours in the carriage and in the dark hospital room formulating what he planned to say, coming to no firm conclusions. Having it be George who took his statement was going to make it harder.

The constable gestured. "Inspector Brackenreid said you wanted to stay by Dr. Ogden's side. Would you prefer to tell me here or shall we go someplace else?"

He thought about it seriously. _I must believe Julia is still aware, still in there. I don't want her to hear this…_ "Perhaps outside." he answered. "Dr. Tash is coming back in a little while and I don't want to disturb Julia…" William checked on Julia one more time, leaving a kiss on her forehead and tucking the already perfectly-tucked sheets around her again. "Julia, I will be right back. I am just going out of the room for a little while with George. Someone will come in to stay with you." It took determination to pull himself away and get out into the hall.

Outside, Miss Belle DuBuisson, a young female parishioner Father Clemens sent over to offer support, was sitting on a bench reading the Bible. She rose, smoothed her grey skirts and came over to William and George as they left the sick room.

"Monsieur Murdoch, how is Madame?" she asked.

"Thank you for coming. Nothing has gotten any worse. She is still unresponsive," he answered. In a moment he continued. ""Pardon, Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle DuBuisson may I present Constable George Crabtree one of my colleagues? Constable, this is Mademoiselle Belle DuBuisson from my church."

"How do you do?" Pleasantries exchanged, William asked Belle to sit with Julia while he spoke with the Constable and she agreed. "We will just be down the hall if you need me," said William before leading George to a tight room at the other end of the corridor after commandeering a pitcher of water and two glasses.

While fetching the water, William could not help but overhear angry and aggrieved comments made by a couple of passersby about how shameful and disgusting it was that the hospital was becoming a _de facto_ flophouse for homeless, probably drunkard men, who malingered in order to get a warm bed and a meal, and it was about time the police rousted them out….before realizing those comments were directed at him. He gathered his reflection in a windowpane to his left and grunted at the sight: dirty and unkempt with hollowed out, darkly-circled eyes, he barely recognized himself.

One in the room with the door closed, they each took a chair, while George found a flat surface upon which to take notes. The short walk from Julia's room to this one emphasized to William just how stiff he had become so he tried to stretch a bit before starting. George declined a drink so William dutifully started working on the cold liquid to satisfy Isaac, while thinking about his statement… _This is going to be interesting._ George appeared to be waiting for him to begin, so William prompted him.

"George, this is your investigation. Where would you like to start?"

The constable shifted gears then got rapidly organized to begin. "Yes. Of course, sir. We already have your previous statement about Dr. Ogden getting shot in your hotel. Can you start with what you remember about your kidnapping?"

"I remember nothing. I have a vague recollection about drinking some awfully sweet tea and then nothing clear until I work up in the cabin. I cannot tell you what time that would have been." William decided to say only what he observed and could testify to with reasonable certainty and without unwarranted speculation. This was how he conducted his own investigations and what he always did at a trial or inquest, so, saw no reason to deviate from that in this case.

"Once you were in the cabin, what happened next?" George's pencil was poised, and William looked at it with an odd combination of fascination and dread.

William answered simply. "I was kept both drugged and physically restrained." _Unless George asks a follow up I am not going to reveal any more._

George's pencil scribbled. "Did Miss Pearce make any statements or threats to you?"

"Yes." William kept a closed fist on his composure, neutralizing his tone and his facial expressions. "Miss Pearce stated to me she killed Constable Worsley and that she shot Julia and believed she killed her as well. I made an escape attempt…" William waved his right hand for emphasis, "and Miss Pearce hit my hand with the butt of her revolver, the same gun I assume was used to shoot Julia."

George nodded and paused meaningfully, pencil hovering over the pad of paper. "And, sir, I must ask, did Miss Pearce give you any motive for her crimes?"

William's voice was steady. "Yes. She expressed what I believe was a delusion that she was in love with me. She made a veiled threat by quoting an old folksong; the message was she was going to stab me to death if I rejected her…" He needed to stop and swallow, a drying of his mouth and turning of his stomach making it hard to talk. He was appalled at the idea that any of Miss Pearce's more obscene actions would become part of a permanent record or that he would have to say as much in front of George. His heart rate elevated and he squirmed in his seat, praying that George would leave the detail alone. Even that, he knew was not the worst of it…

George's eyes were wide in alarm, and his pencil forgotten. "Good Lord, sir! It sounds like Dr. Ogden got there just in time!" George has the grace to be slightly embarrassed at interposing himself during an official statement and returned to his set of questions. "What can you tell me about the events surrounding Miss Pearce's death?"

Guilt shot through him. _Julia came to rescue me and now look what misery we have_ … He poured the last glass of water and drank some of it to give him some time to tamp down his feelings. "I tried to escape again the next morning by luring Miss Pearce out of the cabin to get me some water. Miss Pearce carried the gun she was holding on me, outside with her. It was at that time Julia arrived. I heard sounds of them fighting. By the time I got out of my restraints, Miss Pearce was on top of Julia trying to kill her, but Julia fought back by stabbing her with a knife she had for protection. Miss Pearce died very quickly, saying nothing intelligible. She bled out within perhaps thirty to forty-five seconds after the carotid artery was cut. There was no way to save her. There is no more, really, I want to say in the matter. We decided to bring Miss Pearce's body and the evidence back with us to Toronto, since Julia needed to get back as soon as possible and leaving the body there would subject it to predators." William watched George move his pencil and flip pages as he took the statement notes. As he drained the last of the water, he thought: _This is the worst part, right here._ He waited on their fate.

George looked up, meeting William's eyes. He could see the constable was considering additional questions, running though the various angles of inquiry. _Just as I taught him to do,_ thought William. George would know there were holes in the narrative, would likely know that William was hiding something, or failing to disclose something. He could practically see George's internal struggle with wanting to know and _not_ wanting to know. _What will George do?_ William wondered. _What would I do?_ William kept George's gaze. _What is the truth worth_?

He saw George reevaluate, the mental processes of choosing his next question and how he would pose it flipped over his face just the way the amusement-cards worked, one sketch replaced at regular intervals by a new one. George's eyes signaled he found the correct one. He began by sitting up very straight in a formal manner, before saying, "Sir…Detective Murdoch, although it may be unfair considering you and your wife are the victims in this case, can you swear with certainty as an officer of the law who witnessed the events, that you have no doubts Eva Pearce was going to kill Dr. Ogden, and that Dr. Ogden acted in self-defense?" The constable's eye contact never wavered.

 _Bless you George! Exactly the right question for the bottom-line truth_. William masked his relief with a cough then clearing of his throat. He sat up straighter as well. "No doubts at all, constable. What I observed, and what I can attest to, was self-defense."

George looked back in understanding, and then wrote William's words down verbatim. After reviewing them in silence, William signed the preliminary statement.

"George, if I may ask…Did the finger marks on the gun match Eva and the bullets taken out of Julia match the gun?" As much as he trusted George to have conducted a thorough investigation, he wanted to know the answer officially and for certain.

"Yes, Miss James and I did the work together-the bullets match. Eva's finger marks are in your suite of rooms, on the gun and Miss James even found one in blood on poor Worsley. All of that is written up and in the report-the only thing to add is your statement since we, um… cannot get one from Dr. Ogden." George appeared uncomfortable, and bowed his head briefly before going on. "The inspector will take it directly to the Crown for a determination, most likely of justifiable homicide in self-defense since we have no evidence to the contrary, and especially since we have one of her co-conspirators in custody. By the looks of it, she was planning this crime for quite some while."

Now William smiled. "Thank you, George. Excellent police work." He hiked his bandaged hand. "I always thought of you as my right hand, well now," he attempted a chuckle, "you will get the job officially."

George's mood lightened, sharing a slant-wise grin in return. "Yes, sir, I can see that." William saw George's eyes give him and additional once-over and hesitate.

"If you don't mind me saying, sir…you look… well I'm not sure I should say this, but you hardly look like yourself…" George sighed. "Actually sir you look like a wreck. If I didn't know it already I might not have recognized you. Perhaps getting some rest and cleaned up as the doctor suggested is not a bad idea after all? Higgins brought you a new set of clothes from your closet, and, oh…!" George scrabbled in his pockets before producing a small gold object he offered in his hand. "We found your watch. There you go, sir, it was in the bottom of a laundry cart at your hotel if you can imagine. I bet you'll be glad to have that back."

William wrapped his hand around the smooth round timepiece, pressing his thumb over the case and fingering the chain. His composure started cracking with this reminder of losing Liza. _Please God not Julia as well…_ George either didn't notice or was gracious enough to give no indication.

"Your apartment is still a bit of a mess though, so not quite ready for the two of you…"

George stopped leaned forward with his invitation. "You can stay with me if you like, sir. It will be like camping again…" _George as his usual generous-self._

William was temporarily overwhelmed by the offer as he was feeling so painfully dislocated; having George to talk with brought him back around a bit. "Thank you George, that is very kind. I just may take you up on it." His eyes were misting up for some reason. "For now I want to stay with Julia, I need to be here when she wakes up."

"I'm sure she will be awake soon, sir; she just has to," George said sympathetically. "And I wonder if Dr. Ogden might better prefer to see you looking more like your old-self when she does…"

William pocketed his watch and stood, signally the interview was over. Having seen his appalling dishabille only in reflection, and having heard the hallway comments, he could well-imagine what a sorry sight he probably was. George just confirmed it. _Julia does indeed deserve better_. "Thank you, George. That is very good advice."

William anxiously returned to Julia's room where he submitted to Isaac's transfusion procedure, after which he found himself back in the hallway clutching a paper bag with his clothing folded in it.

" _William, go home. Now you are the one who is dehydrated with an abnormal pulse rate and I need you to get some rest if you are going to be of any use to us for the long run."_ When William balked, the doctor played his remaining card _… "Do it for Julia's sake…"_ Isaac showed him the evidence to back up his claim, logically and firmly, leaving William defenseless; hence the bag and orders not to come back until he was in better shape. William felt vaguely like a schoolboy dismissed from class and ordered home to face his parents: reluctant to go and uncomfortable in staying. He did feel reassured turning Julia's care over to the devout Mademoiselle DuBuisson, who made a solemn vow to inform the doctor immediately if _Madame's_ condition changed.

]# # #

 _ **Toronto General Hospital**_

William first tried the small hospital water closet he cleaned up in before, but it was no use. He was shocked at what he saw in the mirror under good light: his eyes were bruised-looking and sunken in a drawn, heavily stubbled face; his hair was an unruly nest. Upon further inspection he became aware he was untidy in the extreme, indeed as filthy as a street-bum and smelled like one too. A small wash-up was not going to do it. His fine gold watch looked completely out of character to the rest of him, so much so an eager constable might assume he'd stolen it. He riffled around in the bag anyway only to be disappointed—no shaving kit was to be had.

There was nothing for it: he would have to either go back to the Station House or to his rooms—unsure which was a better choice. That was until he was on the hospital grounds with his bundle and discovered he had no cab fare. He dithered for a second or so, too embarrassed to go back in and beg money, then dejectedly made his way all the way to the street. _I don't suppose this was what Isaac had in mind when he asked me to rest_ , he protested to himself.

He almost turned around, thinking this was a ridiculous exercise, when an image of Julia's limp body spurred him on. He envisioned her in her hospital bed so still and unmoving, her eyes sunken, with waxy skin stretched tightly along her fine cheek bones, her ragged breathing echoing against the hard white walls.

He wrapped the borrowed coat more tightly to him and forged on ahead into the cold, deciding that walking to the Station House would get him in a familiar place with resources the fastest. As he walked he turned over Isaac's latest assessment in his head, looking for clues. Unfortunately, the doctor was compassionate but blunt. Julia's condition was grave: unconscious, with several serious problems including an infection and unstable blood pressure.

" _Julia is fighting for her life, William."_ Isaac had taken him aside to talk _. "That machine you made shows us her brain is working, but cannot tell us when she will awake. She is a strong woman, and between us we have done everything I can think of doing for her. Now we wait."_ Those were the doctor's words right before he was ordered out of Julia's hospitalroom.

 _Wait for what?_ William's disquiet grew the more time he spent walking alone down the empty sidewalk under grey skies. _Wait for her to wake up and live, or for her to succumb and die?_ were the choices which chased in his head.

Moving through space usually helped William solve problems via a long walk or, better yet, a ride on his wheel; today he felt as mentally clouded as was the weather above him. He was finding it more and more difficult to sort out his ideas. His _emotions_ on the other hand were in full flight _. Emotions are not my strong suit_ , he knew. He had them of course: wrestled with them, used them or suppressed them as necessary… but to let go and fully react to them was somewhat foreign to him; or at least that was the truth _before_ Julia. He used to believe he knew himself as a man-intellectually quick and mild of temperament. He thought he knew delight, excitement or sorrow before he met her, then discovered it all was washed out or pale in comparison to the depth and brightness of his existence since she came into his life. He _was_ more aware of his feelings now, less afraid of them Julia would say, but still not comfortable when these strong surges ran through him.

Sometimes he believed the more powerfully or deeply he _felt,_ the less he could express himself, accounting for a serious flaw in his character, but one that was so ingrained and essential to his nature it was not going to be altered. He and Julia spoke occasionally about the difficulties of being a person who lived in their head, agreeing it can lead to too much internal dialogue, too many assumptions and not enough social exchange.

William grimaced at himself: _Precisely what I am doing now_ , he thought disgustedly of his mental meanderings. _But if my mind is my greatest strength then how can I not bring it to bear on this greatest and most dire crisis?_

# # #

 _ **Toronto General Hospital, Room 442**_

Belle DuBuisson's thumbs were rigidly pressed on two corners of the small sheaf of papers, locking them in her hands. If anyone had looked through the hospital room door at the tableau inside, they would have been amazed that this slender woman was holding three large men at bay with a firmly set chin and flashing grey eyes. The top-knot of her smooth red-gold hair brought her height to barely five-foot three, but every inch was as steely as the colour of her plain dress. " _Non!_ " she said quietly. "I tell you again. This was given to me for safekeeping, just as you gave this poor lady to me to watch over the first time she was here in hospital, and again tonight. This is my duty. _C'est vrai."_ Despite thirteen years in English-speaking Canada, when her emotions were aroused she uttered automatic phrases in her mother tongue.

Belle had been a reluctant witness to events of the past few days, but once drawn in to the drama, she found herself firmly taking sides. Her usual no-nonsense, practical nature had been affected by what she had experienced in this small room, leading her to feel protective. _Guardian Angel,_ was the astonished praise she received from Father Clemens. Up until this point in her difficult life, she had always believed romantic notions were for silly girls and novels, allowing her to turn her nose up at such foolishness… That was until she got to see a grand, tragic passion played out before her.

She set her shoulders, leveled her gaze at her companions and waited.

Dr. Tash grimaced, before covering it up with a cough, then an anxious sigh. Julia's condition was grave: unconscious, with several serious problems including an infection and unstable blood pressure. Tash had no idea that this spit of a woman that Father Clemens sent over to allow (or rather _force_ ) Detective Murdoch to get some rest, would end up at the center of such a controversy, let alone be so tenacious in her responsibilities. "Gentlemen," he said in a mild voice to Inspector Brackenreid and the priest, "unless you plan to pry those pages from _Mademoiselle_ DuBuisson's fingers, we have to find another way to decide their fate."

Inspector Brackenreid moved forward to challenge anyway, tiredness and worry etched on his face. "Miss, we all understand that you have been… unfortunately involved in this case," he eyed Dr. Tash then lowered his own voice to a whisper, "And we appreciate you might have scared away a murderess from finishing off Dr. Ogden, but that note does say 'confession' does it not? Considering Dr. Ogden's, er… condition, it may contain information we need to understand just what happened out there, since we do not have her to ask." Brackenreid was getting a taste of this young woman's obstinacy; despite being grateful that such flinty-eyed behavior may have quietly yet efficiently prevented Eva Pearce from killing Dr. Ogden, he did not appreciate the implacability turned his way.

"Exactly my point," interrupted Father Clemens. "And as the family priest, confessions are in my domain. I am here at her husband's request, to bring comfort to them both and minister to his wife's soul." The priest knew that the first parts were accurate and the last was a bit of an exaggeration, but he felt he needed to intervene, hoping William (and especially his wife) would understand his duty to God and his parishioner. "What goes between penitent and priest is sacred and sealed. I believe I should take care of the passages since you, Dr. Tash, are, sadly, not optimistic she will recover." He turned to Brackenreid. "In these circumstances, her immortal soul should take precedence in the hour of her death, Inspector. You have her husband from whom to get your information, do you not?"

"He did not witness the actual fight that resulted in Eva Pearce's death." Brackenreid's eyes focused inward momentarily, thinking about what Miss James had told him about the dead woman's _other_ wound. He was not all that certain he wanted to know exactly what happened, but now that this 'confession' letter surfaced, he'd rather be the one that got to see it first before it was common knowledge and before it could be bandied about, to no one's good, he thought. Newspaper reporters were already camped out in the hospital's main floor, the only half-way accurate and un-sensationalized article coming from that Rita Love woman, but even she was ensconced in one of the hospital lobby's chairs. The bloody phone calls started all over again from 'concerned citizens' who were putting pressure towards getting this whole business sewed up as fast as possible. Brackenreid believed it was necessary to have these papers in the Constabulary's hands, since failure to control potential evidence would be a nightmare in such a high profile case.

"Never-the-less," Father Clemens inserted. "I learned about the confession first, so no matter what it contains…"

"Gentlemen! _S'il vous plait_. It is not possible to know to whom this letter was addressed unless we open it. _Regardez ici?_ " Belle pointed at the blood-soaked outer pages. "See here?" She noticed all three men wince slightly at the sight, thinking perhaps of where these pages had been found, stuck between her patient's wound and clothing as a temporary bandage. The nurse who peeled them away was initially going to throw them out, until she saw writing on them, so she set them aside for later. After surgery, the nurse passed them along to the hospital room as a curiosity, ending up in Belle's hands as no one else was present. "I believe this says 'To be opened in case of my death,' and _Madame_ Murdoch is still with us!" She gestured to the narrow iron bed upon which the lady in question was clinging to life.

This shocked the men into remembering just _where_ they were, exactly as she knew it would. _Madame_ was flat on her back, unmoving, her eyes sunken, waxy skin stretched tightly along her bones looking like she was already a corpse—yet her ragged breathing continued. Talking about _Madame_ Murdoch as if she was not there offended Belle, who wanted this tussle to be over quickly so she could get back to tending to her. But if any of these men thought they could move her to surrender the pages through persuasion or intimidation, they were going to be disappointed. In her twenty-six years, Belle had spent half of them raising her two younger brothers and a sister while scraping a living for the four of them. Big, self-important men no longer had any power to impress her, no matter their authority or station. She had to restrain herself from chastising all three about their deportment as she would have done for her siblings when they got rowdy or forgot their manners.

"Mademoiselle is right. Gentlemen, we should not be squabbling. The pages are damaged, some of it unreadable, and perhaps it is premature…" Dr. Tash offered, hoping against hope that it was true. Julia was hovering between life and death, kept alive, he suspected through the sheer willpower of her husband; certainly the limits of medicine were on full display. He cleared his throat, "…Premature to investigate—one way or another." He pointedly eyed the policeman and the priest, his long, gentle face, set in a frown.

"Can we not wait for her husband?" asked Belle, thinking this was the most logical and respectful of outcomes.

All three man uttered "No!" simultaneously, then shared embarrassed silence at the unspoken, rather spontaneous agreement. Belle was surprised at the outburst, then it came to her that each man was trying to protect _Madame_ Murdoch's husband, for what were likely very different reasons, from any more immediate grief.

The conspiracy lengthened in uncomfortable silence. Dr. Tash took control of the situation, ushering the other two men into the corridor to resolve their dilemma, leaving Belle alone with her patient, a small bedside light and the stiffened papers. Before closing the door he gestured to her, indicating she should hang onto the pages, at least for now. _Well,_ she thought, _I have no other intention!_

Belle was grateful for the privacy; so much commotion was not good for her patient. She checked _Madame's_ breathing and sponged her face, while humming a snatch of Channel Island lullaby. She had done that countless times for her own mother at the end—cancer eating away at her vitality, the dream of coming to Canada morphing into a nightmare when first one parent and then the next succumbed to illness. She looked again at her patient and thought, though it might be a trick of the light, _Madame's_ color might be slightly better. For a moment Belle had a surge of hope that the medicines were working, then shook her head: _Madame_ is in God's hands, she knew. She settled down in a hard-backed chair, brought out her rosary and began to pray, the Hail Marys and Lord's Prayers flowing smoothly.

 **# # #**

 _ **Streets of Toronto**_

Without realizing it, William's feet brought him habitually along the streets of his old neighborhood close by the hospital, part of his life before marriage to Julia. When he looked up at the façade he was surprised, having no idea why or how he came there. He shook his head, feeling embarrassed and a little lost, then considered the house. He saw that there were lights on in the first floor front room, imagining the warm, tidy space and familiar environs. William felt an internal struggle overtake his sensibilities, making his whole body waver back and forth on the street with the tension rattling inside of him.

It was too much to resist, so he walked up the path and knocked on the door and waited.

 **# # #**

 _ **Toronto General Hospital, Room 442**_

One rosary completed, Belle's concentration strayed to the bundle of pages resting under a circle of illumination by the bedside. The angle of the light hit the pencil strokes in a novel way, making them somewhat easier to make out. The pages had been wrinkled and folded over on themselves, with the most obvious sentence being "…two confessions to make," which of course was the source of the tug of war for these papers. The other side of the bundle carried what looked to her as being written: 'To be opened in case of my death.'

Belle sighed. She was well-acquainted with death having faced it with great faith and the fear of God, while accepting it as a necessary part of life. To think of this dear lady passing away into the hands of her Maker was to be celebrated for the sake of her immortal soul—assuming she would arouse sufficiently to accept the blessing of the One True Church and achieve a death bed conversion to Catholicism. Belle had initially resisted coming here and sitting a prayer vigil for a non-Catholic, and was surprised by the priest's unusual request to do so. She only agreed because it seemed so important to the Father, and because she was grateful for _Monsieur_ Murdoch having allowed her sister, Delphine, to take a class he gave at St. Paul's on electricity. Her little sister had argued day and night for two weeks to be allowed to go, with Belle only relenting after deciding it would serve Delphine a hard lesson in how the world works and a woman's place in it. Privately she believed Delphine probably only had a crush on the handsome detective and no interest at all in a job skill which was clearly unsuitable for a female. Belle was suspicious as well about why he would allow her into the class, concerned about the propriety of it. Instead, _Monsieur_ Murdoch was welcoming of the girl, was a kind and patient teacher, imparting a practical skill Delphine was already using to earn money, amazingly enough. Belle was forced to alter her opinion of her fellow parishioner.

Originally, when Father Clemens asked her to come to hospital, he offered it as a chance to test her resolve about joining the Sisters of St. Joseph as a novice and taking up nursing as an act of her faith. It was not completely unheard of for a woman her age to do so, and since her siblings were now grown enough to fend for themselves, she found herself thinking more and more about her own future, now that she could choose one. She had no belief in romance, or interest the practical benefits of marriage; having already raised three children, she had no appetite for more and need no man's income since she supported herself adequately. She was trying to decide if her calling to the veil was strong and genuine. While at the hospital, Belle took the opportunity to observe everything and planned to use the silence at the bedside of a comatose woman for prayer and reflection. She had no expectation other than to fill the hours with her rosary, waiting for death.

A smile prickled at her mouth. That was before she got wrapped up in the story of the shooting of _Madame_ and kidnapping of _Monsieur._ The rushing to and fro of the doctors or police did not disturb her calm. Nor was she put off by the sights and smells of the hospital. Nothing here was more than she anticipated and she was prepared for her duty. What she did not in any way expect was an awakening of a different sort for herself.

What was most extraordinary to her, was watching _Monsieur's_ devotion to God and his wife, deep loyalty and faithfulness demonstrated in even the smallest of his gestures. He tenderly held her hand and spoke to her as if she was aware and able to listen to his voice. He fought the doctors when he believed they were wrong and giving up on her. He prayed for strength to endure and praised God for the blessings in his life. When she shook with fever, he laid beside her. He made that most interesting device to prove that his wife had not left her body, but was merely locked in her mind… Belle's cynicism about love was melted away by his displays of warm affection for his wife, and the heat of anguish _Monsieur_ Murdoch felt over her precarious hold on this world. Once she learned a few more facts about their history together, her heart went out to this couple, becoming fully invested in seeing to it that the brave _Madame_ survived to be reunited with her dedicated husband after their remarkable return to Toronto.

She looked more closely at the pages, her rosary forgotten. _Was that a salutation?_ Belle picked up the bundle and turned it slant-wise to the light, and examined the surface carefully. The blood had soaked both sides of the packet and seeped into the center. But if she pulled gently from the middle, could she open the pages up to see what was written? As slowly as she could, Belle teased the pages apart using her hairpins to separate the sheets. It was not completely successful, and much of the writing was obscured by the blood and disintegration of the fragile wet pages while they were used as a make shift bandage. She looked at the room's door which remained closed. There was no indication the priest, doctor and police officer were still without—light shown unobstructed from under the door.

She hesitated, then turned her attention again to her patient. _Madame_ was so very still, then another breath animated her. _Bon!_ While she lives no one should read these, certainly none of the men who wish to take it away, and not her husband it seems, to spare him more pain. But how to guarantee this? In her life, Belle learned to never shirk a hard task. Taking the pages one by one, she leaned into the lamp and began to read…

 **# # #**

 _ **Streets of Toronto**_

"May I help you?" A raw-boned, grey-haired woman peered through a crack in the door at No. 22. William simply waited until she recognized him. Mrs. Kitchen, still looking to him as if the years had made no adjustment in the almost two decades since the day he arrived on her doorstep seeking lodgings, blinked several times in confusion before furrowing her brow. "Good Gracious! Mr. Murdoch? Is that you?!" She swung the door wider, her gaze raking his figure, huddled on her doorstep with an awkward parcel. "Come in, come in-whatever is going on?"

William reached to politely tip his hat before remembering he did not have one. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Kitchen…I…I'm not sure…" He shrugged diffidently. "There has been so much going on…I wonder if you would be able to help me?" William stammered.

Her smile lifted a corner of his heart. "Of course I will," she answered. She took his paper bag and ushered him into her familiar front hall, closing the door against a cold wind that had come up and placing the parcel aside. Mrs. Kitchen, who fed him and 'mothered' him for longer than his own mother was alive, and who provided a more stable home for him for longer than he'd ever enjoyed in his entire life, gave him a second, no-nonsense appraisal. She did not hesitate. "Of course, Mr. Murdoch. Tell me what has happened and how I can help."

It amazed him he had the presumption to call on her in this way in the first place. _Julia might have said my unconscious directed me_ , he thought. _So now I am here, where do I start?_

"It's Dr. Ogden, my wife…Julia- she's in hospital and I can't go back home…" he said disjointedly and swallowed, feeling stiff and graceless.

"Is the poor lady ill?" she asked.

Mrs. Kitchen clearly did not expect the answer he gave. "No actually, she'd been shot…"

She gasped and put a hand on her face in dismay. "Oh, my Gracious Lord! How awful!" She reached for his coat to hang it on the hall tree, giving her a better picture of his own disordered state. She didn't seem to care. "Is she all right? Why can't you go home? What about...?" Her questions ballooned around him, and he tried to answer them in order, all the while she pulled him down the hall and into her kitchen where tea was steeped and set out with a slice of bread with jam. When he filled her in as much as he could stomach he felt nerveless and exhausted. He supposed Mrs. Kitchen had occasionally seen him like this before over the years, after a particularly bad police case, or when Liza was dying… certainly when he was parted from Julia, therefore William reckoned she knew through experience just what would serve.

"Well, I can see you need to make yourself presentable." She put her hand to her lip. "Your old room is rented, of course, but the bath room upstairs is unoccupied at the moment. I have one of those new hot water baths now and it will get you done up in no time. I take it your clean clothes are in that bag?" She pointed. When he nodded she continued with businesslike efficiency. "You know where everything is, so help yourself. I will even shake out your suit and see what condition it is in…"

He interrupted her. "Oh, no. I am ridiculously imposing as it is…That is not necessary… you don't have to do that…"

"Nonsense! It is why you are here after all, isn't it? All those years you lived here, you left my boarding house immaculately pressed, so I am not about to change my ways now." He tried to interrupt again, but she gave him one of her fierce glares. "Mr. Murdoch. I feel very honoured you came here to me, to let me help you. It is much more than my Christian charity." He saw she was getting red in the face as she often did when she was feeling something deeply. "I suppose it is not a surprise Mr. Kitchen and I thought of you as more than just a boarder. Your talks with him were the highlight of his week, and don't tell me you did not know that. It was a kindness you did the old man, and I am beholden to you for it. I just know if he was here, he'd say, 'Mother? Now you take care of that young man.'" She reached into her pocket for a handkerchief and sniffed. "It makes my heart glad you are here in the hour of your need." Putting her maudlin thoughts away she pointed up the stairs. "Now, go on with you. I will bring up your clothing as soon as I am sure it is fit be worn."

True to her word, his clothing was brushed, sponged, pressed and waiting for him when he was done scrubbing the layers of grime away. Even his shoes had a lick of polish applied. He was grateful beyond words, when she offered to get him buttoned up and shaved as he found, to his chagrin, he could not do it one-handed; the embarrassment at having to ask was worth the end result of a clean face and being fully dressed, so he submitted meekly. "I did the honours for Mr. Kitchen, so I know how it is done and I still have his old kit somewhere…"

When she offered him her husband's seal-skin coat in exchange for the ratty cloth one he had been wearing he choked up a bit. "That is too much Mrs. Kitchen, I cannot tell you enough how much I appreciate…"

"Now, now, Mr. Murdoch. Never you mind." Mrs. Kitchen had a light in her eyes, and a sly grin. "Since you won't let me feed you, at least let me get you on to wherever it is you need to go. After all, you let me have the whole finder's fee for that gold hidden in your room. It paid for the damage and a few extras, and I even have a little bit left. I'm sure there is a proverb to quote about it, but I insist."

He answered immediately: "…' _And the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and of one soul; neither said any that of the things which he possessed was his own; but they had all things in common.'_ Acts 4:32." William sighed and looked at her with a quirk on his lips.

She smiled in satisfaction. "In the meantime, I am going to pray for Dr. Ogden."

He took her hand. is "And for me?"

She put some change in his palm and held it. "And for you, of course," she said. "I do every day."

# # #


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

# # # #

 _ **Toronto general Hospital, Room 442**_

Belle worked at piecing the words of _Madame's_ letter together despite great gaps in the text…

 _ **... … Dearest William ~**_

 _ **I have a two confessions to make. One confession is that I hope you never have to read this as I am afraid it will break your heart...**_

Belle stopped, mind and heart suddenly racing. _Mon Dieu!_ She looked critically at her patient. Surely this is not a confession of an affair! That certainly  would break _Monsieur_ Murdoch's heart… unthinkable! She felt a flood of shame wash over her, heat in her face. _This what I get for reading other people's correspondence._ Then she thought about how badly it would end if either the Inspector or the Father received these words, and the effects of such awful humiliation on _Monsieur._ Belle shook her head, and loosened her grip on the fragile paper. It was unlike her to jump to conclusions, but spoke to the tension she felt at reading something perhaps much too private in an overwrought emotional state. She took several deep breaths and turned again to the pages, more determined now to see what they contained and protect _Madame_ and _Monsieur_ if she could. She refused to be embarrassed or ashamed; if these two could withstand all that fate has set before them, then she would do what was necessary as well **.**

… _ **Remember always, William, I am yours, and I cherish you more than I ever believed it possible for one person to care for another. You are the center of life for me, the very foundation of my world and I revel in knowing you truly love me in return. I am on a whole-hearted mission, needing your arms folded around me and the warmth of your breath on my neck, to hear you say my name…your kiss so soft or insistent.**_

 _ **My greatest desire is to see you with my eyes and touch you with both hands when next we meet. Rather that, than imagine you ever holding these pages in**_ _ **your**_ _ **hands. I dread having someone else read them nearly as much, so I am not going to put on paper everything I would wish you to know or is in my heart at the moment. Having written those words, I have so many, many, things I want to say to you, I hardly know where to start. How can I possibly tell you, in the space of time before me and with the meagre tools in my possession, what life with you has meant for me? How exultant and tender? How I have treasured every day, every hour, and every second…?**_

Belle nearly faltered again. If _Madame_ did not want anyone to read her words, then why write them at all? Why keep them and then indicate they were to be opened at her death? Why not destroy them when she found her husband?For good or ill, Belle was captivated by the story, and told herself it was part of her duty to finish and then decide who would get the pages - the Church or the Law. Setting her worries aside, she plunged ahead.

… _ **But from "where", from "when", would**_ _ **we**_ _ **start? Our first meeting? Our first case? Our first kiss? The first time you told me, out loud you loved only me and I said I loved you in return? When, William? When did you and I go from being separate individuals to "we" in the first place? Oh, my! So many questions! This has been the great arc of our relationship, hasn't it? Answering questions of one kind or another, solving a puzzle, finding facts, getting to the truth, and always searching until you discover what you are looking for.**_

 _ **Truth. Always the truth for you.**_

 _ **Well, the truth is, for me, "we" started long before our marriage, long before you asked me to be your wife and I finally said "yes!", before I wore a certain scandalously red velvet dress to a public venue and kissed you. It was before we got a little tipsy in the park. I recall it was during a case when you and I were in my morgue, talking about some theory or result or other, and I impulsively finished one of your sentences. And, this is important: you looked so pleased. That was it.**_ _ **The**_ _ **moment. It seems so simple, really, but as I sit here writing, my mind is drawn to that picture of your face again, your eyes looking so intently into mine during a singular, exquisite moment between one breath and another when**_ _ **something**_ _ **changed so profoundly for me. I was surprised by a sudden deep connection to you; one I could not name, or quantify or easily categorize, yet, it seemed as natural to me as breathing or my heart pulsing the blood in my veins. I think what startled me was how happy I was. In the middle of something truly awful, I felt**_ _ **happy**_ _ **. And I don't remember being quite that happy before, perhaps in my whole life. All I knew is that I wanted to repeat the experience….**_ _ **that**_ _ **particular experience of feeling in concert with you, at once indescribable, and irrational, and joyous. All from something as pedestrian as me coming up with the same word you were looking for.**_

 _ **Do you know I love your eyes? You**_ _ **must**_ _ **know I suppose…how silly of me to ask. But do you know when I look into them my world shifts a tiny bit on its axis and I can allow gravity to pull me into their warm depths? Do you know I am never afraid when I am with you? I can let go of anything and everything because you**_ _ **catch**_ _ **me there in your gaze, loving or fierce it never matters, only that you are there and I am with you. Our relationship, our partnership and our passion, William, all started with a look between us. Words matter, of course, but you and I have communicated so often with only our eyes.**_

 _ **Words, William. How many have flowed back and forth between us, and how many have we held back? I find I am searching for just the perfect ones to explain everything, of course making this even harder to write.**_

 _ **Right now, I am comforted by the smell of you, and when I am finished writing I will bed down in your navy wool coat, the one with the three cuff buttons on the sleeve, that I pestered you into getting because it sets off your dark hair and fine brown eyes so well. I can detect the scent of your shaving soap and all the little aromas that make up my awareness of you. By the way, I seem to have gotten a great deal of dirt and stains on one of your nice white shirts and pair of trousers I also borrowed. I have them on not merely as a practical matter, but because I feel close to you whilst wearing them— your tailor will disapprove of the way I am pulling the seams about of course, and will turn his nose up at the wood-smoke seeping into the fabric. With your coat on I hug my arms around myself pretending it is you who is holding me safe and warm, pretending I am talking with you instead of scribbling by the firelight. It was pure luck I got the fire going. I ended up using most of the pages in this journal to start the wet wood, but I can keep it going until dawn; with your boots on and the horse blanket I should be warm enough. You might think me foolhardy to be out here in the shivery dark, and right about now, alone and in the woods with you miles away, I'd agree. I predict you will ask yourself 'What was she thinking?' and probably be quite angry—if not immediately, I imagine it will come soon enough. I promise I will understand.**_

 _ **What was I thinking? Another good question. When I woke up in the hospital you were**_ _ **gone**_ _ **. You were my tether to life and all that mattered, and as long as you were there with me I was going to be all right. I had felt your presence, somehow, even while I was unconscious. The thing is, I swear I could**_ _ **hear**_ _ **you, William. I heard your voice! It penetrated the grey fog and I was shouting back at you, so frustrated you did not seem to hear my voice in answer, or feel my hand squeeze yours no matter how hard I tried. Then when I woke up, my feeling of comfort and safety was shattered. No one at the hospital could tell me where you were. I was in a panic, desperately compelled to find you because I just**_ _ **felt**_ _ **something was terribly, terribly wrong. I remember clearly who shot me, and I knew that she was going to go after you next. I had to get to you, because if she had you, you would be in mortal danger.**_

 _ **I stole out of my room, hitching a ride to the Station House. The look on their faces when I got there…I think I scared the lot of them! Then Constable Jackson confirmed what I already feared was true: he said you were missing. William, those words were**_ _ **worse**_ _ **than getting shot. I can't describe what an awful blow that was. The pain I felt at that moment was not physical, it was the deeply cold and gut-wrenching terror that you had vanished. I**_ _ **knew**_ _ **it, but held out the faint hope I was merely fevered or my faculties were warped by injury or the medication. It was James Gillies all over again, because the only thing in the whole world that would keep you from me was to be held back, or taken against your will… or dead. Except I just**_ _ **know**_ _ **you are alive. I swear I can feel your life-force, sense our connection; for some reason at this moment it is more powerful than ever, and gives me great hope.**_

 _ **I am uncertain exactly why I did not just send the constabulary out—it is not that I don't trust the men you work with, but none of them know her the way I do—the way we do. My anger about her and my fear for you drove me to act. I know not much is accomplished in the grip of fear, but we exchanged vows, husband, for better or worse, in sickness or in health-only meaningless words unless formed into action. Before you get annoyed with me, ask yourself: Certainly there are no half measures in**_ _ **you**_ _ **, are there William? I would be ashamed to do less for you than you would for me. I am well aware you still might count me as having been impetuous, but in this case I felt I could waste no time.**_

 _ **Time. Like words, William, how much time has passed between us? I suppose if you were here you would calculate for me exactly how many moments that added up to, wouldn't you? It makes me laugh a little to imagine your face looking very serious, then your eyes light up when you come up with the required number, breaking into a grin while you deliver the answer. Oh, how I have laid in wait for one of your smiles! Catching you unawares, or if I can tease you, make you laugh or blush. Best yet is when you are smiling in pleasure at me, looking up from your work perhaps, and it seems that everything else is forgotten as you focus your attention on me. I am selfish about those moments – thank you so much for them over the years. I fear we have not had enough time, or have wasted so many years. As I write I am flooded with waves of regret. I always hoped to grow older with you, raise children, live in that wonderful house you designed for us, work together… I have to stop my mind from entertaining images of despair. The thread of fate has brought us this far, and I cannot,**_ _ **I will not**_ _ **, accept for it to be sundered now , because life without you is worse than death.**_

 _ **William, you confessed to me after we married, that from the very first moment we met, you knew I was the one for you. How did you know that? What possible clue was there that would lead you to such and extraordinary conclusion? Love at first sight is quite a romantic notion coming from a school girl, let alone a rational mind like yours. The famously deliberative William Murdoch, who never, ever, renders a decision or states an opinion without a thorough vetting of all the variables. Who chooses his tie every morning based on some obscure calculation… well at least it looks that way to me! Yet you made a rash, snap judgement about the path of two lives—yours**_ _ **and**_ _ **mine—in what amounts to a handful of heart-beats. How radical for you.**_

 _ **How wonderful for me.**_

 _ **I have no wish to have it any other way. If I get the chance, another time, more time, I will tell you everything that is in my heart, all the words I ever held back from you. It seems ridiculous that I have to be out here in the frigid dark in the middle of nowhere, to feel so close to you, but I do William. We both have something to live for—**_ _ **us!**_

 _ **You believe in God, William. I beg you to cling to your faith, and pray for a miracle. God would not put something in your path you cannot handle. Do whatever you need to do, or**_ _ **have**_ _ **to do to stay alive—Use your wits, that big brain of yours that remembers everything, to get through this in one piece. Use everything you ever learned about managing a dangerous suspect. Don't argue with her delusions-just go along with her—wherever that takes you. I need you to hear me, hear my voice through whatever connections we have. Please! You must listen and understand. You must do what she does not expect; it is the only way to get her off her guard or lull her into a misstep. I feel so guilty right now, when I think of you being in her clutches and I feel so responsible for not accurately assessing the threat she posed.**_

 _ **Because when she has you, and finally realizes she does**_ _ **not**_ _ **know you, that you are**_ _ **not**_ _ **the man she has deluded herself into thinking you are, she will be enraged at her own inadequacies, unable to tolerate an insult to her ego of that magnitude. She**_ _ **will**_ _ **kill you, William. The truth is, that is the inevitable outcome of her madness. She is like one of those insects that reflexively, mindlessly consumes its mate.**_

 _ **It breaks my heart to think of you reading this because it means I have failed. So many have left you one way or the other: your parents, your sister, Liza, even Anna. I left you William, how**_ _ **blind**_ _ **I was! I swore I would never do that again. If you are reading this, perhaps I never made it to your side, or I never made it back home. It would seem then that I erred when I told you I was never going to be a victim again. If you are reading this, it means I failed myself as well as you, broken my vows. I am so sorry, my love. I comfort myself with the notion that if you are reading this you survived Eva Pearce and you are alive, and that maybe I did get to you and did helped rescue you in some way. Regardless of the circumstances, it is so very important to me that you be alive in this world.**_

 _ **So I will tell you the rest of the truth. You may believe you lack a certain instinct, William, but I have no such compunctions.**_

 _ **My other confession is that I plan to end this. Never again are we going to live under the specter of a threat. Go beyond what you believe are the limits of your endurance. Stretch your courage. Stay alive, William. Try to stay alive long enough until I get to you. And I hope to stay alive long enough until I can.**_

 _ **Dr. Ogden is pretty sure her patient has behaved rashly and is in some serious trouble. So it may take one of your miracles, but Mrs. Murdoch is coming to get her husband back.**_

 _ **-Your devoted,**_

 _ **Julia**_

 _ **# # #**_

 **Toronto General Hospital**

William alighted from his cab and thanked the driver. He made himself walk, not run, up the steps to the main hospital doors and enter the building, removing his borrowed coat and brushing the snow from his head. Having his own clothing on and his watch back where it belonged in his vest helped immeasurably, making him feel almost normal on the outside again…even without his hat. There was so much to sort out from the chaos inside him, so much going on in the war between his mind and his heart.

He did not bother to stop at the front desk, but took the stairs to the fourth floor, turning right when he gained the hallway and stepped aside for a cart rumbling by in the long corridor. He paused outside Julia's door, wanting to be in command of himself and took in a deep breath to steady his nerves. Inside was the great love of his life, the center of his universe, his Julia, in an untenable condition, and he needed to make decisions without the way being clear.

Therefore, he bent his head in the prayer he kept closest to his heart:

 _Suscipe, Domine, universam meam libertatem. Accipe memoriam, intellectum, atque voluntatem omnem. Quidquid habeo vel possideo mihi largitus es; id tibi totum restituo, ac tuae prorsus voluntati trado gubernandum. Amorem tui solum cum gratia tua mihi dones, et dives sum satis, nec aliud quidquam ultra posco._

 _Receive, O Lord, all my liberty. Take my memory, my understanding, and my entire will. Whatsoever I have or hold, You have given me; I give it all back to You and surrender it wholly to be governed by your will. Give me only your love and your grace, and I am rich enough and ask for nothing more._

 _Amen._ He cleared his throat and turned the knob to room 442.

Belle was startled into exhaling again, unaware she had been holding her breath. Madame's letter, fluttering in her trembling hand, was astonishing. Her heart was pounding in her chest and tears collected at the corners of her eyes. Putting the pages down on the bedside table, she wiped her face and looked over at her patient whose breathing appeared to be less laboured. She jumped when the door opened.

"Mademoiselle DuBuisson, how is she?" were William's first words as he came to the bedside. He had attention only for his wife, ignoring the damaged papers collected on the table. He took her hand and kissed her brow, evaluating her condition with a critical eye. His right hand was swollen and bandaged, and Belle wondered how he managed to shave and dress so carefully.

Bell calculated _Monsieur_ had been gone scarcely three hours, hardly enough time for a meal or rest, but reappeared well-groomed and in a dark suit, with equally dark circles under his eyes and a haunted expression on his face. Belle thought that getting cleaned up and dressed was not for his own comfort, but so that his wife would wake up to a familiar sight, rather than the disheveled wreck he had been.

She wanted to respond truthfully, since the truth mattered so much to this pair. Belle cleared her throat. "Dr. Tash does not say, but I think her breathing and colour are better. There has been no more bleeding." In fact, she thought _Madame_ appeared to be stirring a bit, eyes flicking underneath the closed lids.

"Merci," William said. "Thank you for looking out after her for me. You have been so kind."

She stood, blocking his view of the bedside table and reached for the pages behind her back. "I will go get the doctor," she paused to make an educated guess, "and I will get you something to eat and drink."

# # #

Once in the hall Belle transferred the papers to her apron pocket, and sought Dr. Tash, praying that he was alone. She found him in a tiny examination room, surprised he was sharing a drink with the Inspector and Father Clements. All three gentlemen abruptly stopped talking and rose when she entered, looking a bit sheepish about the alcohol.

"How is Julia, er…Dr. Ogden?" questioned Dr. Tash. He walked forward to greet her.

Belle coughed to hide a smile. "Doctor Tash, her husband is back and I think your patient is a little better. He would like to hear that from you, however." She saw that each of them relaxed fractionally, whether because _Monsieur_ Murdoch was back or at her pronouncement of his wife's status, she did not know. "Doctor, I am going to go to the kitchen and see if I can get something to eat and drink for him, since I doubt he saw to that for himself. Please excuse me." She turned to leave, hoping to get away cleanly.

"Not so fast, Miss," the inspector spoke up. "About that confession, we have decided…"

Belle held up her hand. "Non! No, gentlemen. You have not decided. _Madame_ is very much alive and I have read the pages." She cringed inwardly at the angry reaction her words drew from the men. "I should have not done so, I know, but it was better that I did, now that I have read the words. It is a love letter to her husband—nothing for the Church and nothing for the Law to concern itself with and I think nothing for husband as well, since _Madame_ will live, God willing!" She brought the pages out of her pocket to show them. The process of reading fairly destroyed the paper, creating the shredded mess she handed over. Of course she did deliberately help that process along a little bit. Madame will be able to speak her words of love to her husband and will be able to give her accounting of the terrible events, all without having her desperate musings come to light. She smiled brightly to the men who stood rather dumbfounded around a clump of paper, but not before collecting a wink from Dr. Tash, a smile from Father Clemens, and a grunt from the Inspector.

Belle turned on her heel and swept out of the room in search of the kitchen in the depths of the hospital, her skirts swishing against the doorway and a warm feeling in her heart about love...

 _Guardian Angel,_ indeed!

# # #

As soon as he was alone with Julia, William's emotional armour, so carefully assembled around his heart, crumbled. He sat gingerly on the side of her bed, pressing her hand with his lips, straining to detect any slight response. "Julia, where are you? " He whispered hoarsely. "Will you please come back to me?" He leaned in, searching her face for any flicker. "How can it be that you are so far away? Can you hear me? Oh Julia…I am so very sorry for all of this. I promised to love and care for you and I have failed. It is all my fault …"

He was sitting there mute, when a soft knock made him start. The door opened to admit Isaac, followed by Inspector Brackenreid. William looked up, studying the set of their faces and shivered involuntarily. _Their faces say death…_

"William, you are back here awfully quickly," Isaac observed.

"How is she?" William asked, ignoring the comment and wanting desperately to believe in good news despite the evidence.

"She is no worse." Isaac carefully pronounced. He came over to examine Julia again, expertly taking her vital signs. "Will you be staying here tonight? I will get a cot brought in for you." He handed William a sheaf of papers. "I also brought this. It is a set of articles on infection and sepsis management I hoped you would read and discuss with me. One was written by a surgeon after the U.S. war between the states."

 _No false hope, but no doom either,_ William noticed. _So be it._ "Thank you," he said and meant it.

Isaac saw the inspector and William share a look. He went to the door. "William, let me know what you want to do. In the meantime, I assume you have police business. Shall I leave you gentlemen to it?" He bid farewell and departed.

Inspector Brackenreid approached Julia's bed with a troubled look on his face. William thought he appeared to be thinking over what he wanted to say. "Murdoch. Do you know that your wife came to visit me once when I was home recovering from that beating?" He snorted and waved his walking stick around the room. "I was three months in this hospital, and was feeling sorry for myself. She reamed me out quite good, she did." He winked and bent closer. "I feel sorry for you, me ol' mucker, if you get the rough end of that at home. But she reminded me that we have to fight, and rightly so." He thumped the end of his stick on the floor for emphasis. "It has only been a few days."

"Thank you, sir," William managed. "I appreciate your encouragement, I, we... really do." Brackenreid's delivery was a little too light and bright, telling William his superior was trying to avoid either pity or cruel honesty. _At least he did not offer any formulaic blather._ He smiled tightly and felt grateful for that. "And, yes, I can imagine Julia's approach if she thinks a patient needs to be prodded…"

"I actually came by to let you know that the investigation is open and shut." His superior brought out a folded set of papers from the breast pocket of his jacket and handed it to William. "As soon as you sign this official version of your statement it will be filed with everything else; it is a done deal." Brackenreid looked at William intently.

"The lads did good work on this case, we should be proud of them," William began. "Sir, I haven't had the opportunity to thank you and George for coming out to get us. You saved her life…" His eyes fastened on Julia. _If only that were the whole truth._

The inspector waved the gratitude away and looked at Julia again as well. After a moment he said, "You should know, Murdoch, the men send their regards to you and Dr. Ogden." Brackenreid straightened and replaced his hat. "Worsley's funeral is Saturday. Going to be a city affair as befitting a hero. I will let you know the details if you can attend." He accepted return of William's type-written statement, now signed in a scribbled left hand, and bade farewell.

William was alone again with Julia, with nothing to say. He accepted a tray of food from Mlle. DuBuisson and ate of it mechanically, the meal all tasting like sawdust to his tongue. She promised a visit from Father Clemens after he finished his rounds of other parishioners, so William waited patiently as the darkness took over, staring at the cot a kindly orderly brought in, trying to see if he could fit it next to Julia's bed so he could hold one of her hands all night.

"Julia, please talk to me." His voice broke with a sob. "I need you, I need you so much. I told you once nothing is right when we are not together. I never knew what was missing in my life until I met you. I never knew such power existed between two people…"

Feelings of love for his wife burned most of his anger away leaving a gaping chasm of bitter guilt. All this time, Julia did not stir, and eventually his tears dried.

When Mlle. DuBuisson returned with a note from his priest asking to meet at the hospital chapel, William's mood was despairing. He made his way down the empty corridors, believing he finally came to a decision.

# # #

The chapel was lit by candle and wreathed in shadow. Father Clemens was alone in meditation so William waited until the priest made the Sign of the Cross and rose, his long black cassock making a slight rustling noise in the quiet space. "William. I am at your disposal... Come."

William sat next to the priest and blessed himself as well. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been, er… seven days since my last confession." _Where did that week go? It seems to have gone by like one of those roller-coasters carriages, with grand, dizzying heights and terrifying, stomach-wrenching drops._

The priest's voice was low and calm. "What do you need to tell me, William?"

 _Oh, where can I possibly begin?_ He squeezed his eyes shut. _I am here now and in such pain, so only the truth, God forgive me._

"I have helped…I have…obscured part of the story of Miss Pearce's crimes. I did not give all the details in my report because I felt humiliated, and I," his heart started racing and his face flushed, "I destroyed a piece of equipment I should not have, thinking to protect Julia."

William did not look up and Father Clemens delayed a long time before responding. "That is very surprising to me, and sounds to me to be quite grave." William absorbed the shock and disapproval in the priest's tone and recoiled inwardly. "Is this a crime you committed?"

"No," William answered.

"Did you sin by bearing false witness?"

"No." _That's not the point,_ William argued silently.

He made himself speak, slowly, deliberately. "No, but I was tempted to interfere with the investigation. To tamper with the truth…and, to my shame, I did. It was only sheer luck my actions did not actually cross the line under the law. I have compromised my integrity, Father."

"With the sin of losing faith, William?" The priest went directly to the heart of that matter.

"Yes." William's chest tightened, "I am also guilty. Guilty for all of this."

Father Clemens questioned: "Guilty? How so? Did you invite this tragedy?"

"No…" _Just what Julia asked me before, when she tried to convince me this was not my doing—but it is…_. "And, yes. Guilty because of what all of this has cost Julia, the price she may pay. I was too complacent, Father…" William's memories of his recent happiness and future plans with Julia were edged in darkness now. " _Hubris_ —I forgot it was God's will and not my desire that makes things so. I challenged God by being arrogant: thinking things were perfect, that the past had no more to say about the present when I know full well every decision has its consequences. I forgot we pay for our sins in this world or the next…" William's throat closed on his voice.

When he stalled, Father Clemens merely waited him out as one of the candles sputtered and smoked, sending a burned-honey smell wafting in the room. William dragged up his determination to finish, to say it all. "I vowed to protect Julia, and I failed. I was blind to the risk—I should have known that Miss Pearce was a threat in the first place. I should have recognized her! Then, if I hadn't left Julia's side after she was shot, Miss Pearce would not have been able to take me, therefore Julia would not have risked herself to rescue me. It is that, more than anything, which has put her life in the balance. She'd be on the mend right now if not for that." William wiped his face. He felt crushed. Saying that truth was purely awful and he did not feel any better for having said it; the weight of it sat on his chest and thrust into his guts with an iron fist. _Julia complained all the time about my devastating logic—what would she think now?_

Father Clemens let the silence grow before responding. He did not offer counsel or assign penance. Instead he asked, "What are you not saying? William, reveal your heart to God…."

William shifted on the bench, initially defensive. "Father, I…?" Then he searched his thoughts and gasped softly, hanging his head. _The truth._ "Yes, Father. I have been having selfish thoughts about Julia or wondering if I really want to live without her. Now I realize I may have to let her go…" His tears threatened to spill out if the confines of his lashes. "I lost faith, in my pain and confusion. I am still lost…"

"I see." Father Clemens put his hands together. "Do you fear death, William?"

He shook his head. "I do not choose it, but I do not believe it is a terrible thing. Did you know, Father, I believe I once glimpsed **Heaven, or at least my imagining of it?"** William asked. When the priest reacted with surprise, William continued earnestly. "It was during a case in 1899. A group of individuals were attempting to experience death, experiment with it actually, and come back to tell the others what it was like. One of them tried to kill me and for a moment I believe I did actually die. **All life ebbed out of me and I drifted up and away, feeling a heightened sense of awareness and an intensity I'd never experienced before.** " _Except with Julia_ … " **I felt absolutely no fear, no fear at all. It was, well…wonderful!"**

The priest was thoughtful. "So, William, what is you feel so guilty for? What transgression?"

"For wanting Julia to stay with me, and not…leave me. For not being content that she do so if God calls her, when I know how wonderful it will be at the end." Awful feelings overwhelmed him again. "How can I deny her Heaven for my sake?" His speech was harsh and rushed now. "Dr. Tash believes that she may need surgery for the infection we are afraid has taken hold inside her abdomen. In his opinion she might not survive the operation, and if she is septic odds are very low will survive without it. He wants me to decide which course of action to take."

William's whole body trembled. _This was it, wasn't it? The darkest part._ "He does not say as much, but Dr. Tash wants me to choose between the ways for her to die." He whispered. "I need to find the strength to know what to do, to comfort her and let her go…" His mouth opened but no further sound came…he had never felt so stricken.

Father Clemens sighed and straightened. William was barely aware the priest was moving until he felt a hand on his shoulder grab him, _hard._ "Believe in God, William, because our Lord is merciful. You can accept it may be God's will for Julia to sacrifice herself for you and will pass on to our Heavenly Father, yet you can still fight for her life anyway—they are not mutually exclusive. Who is to say what is God's plan? In your grief and guilt, you have left out at least one important variable: Julia's will to live. Instead of giving her permission to pass on, perhaps you need to remind her what she has to live for…"

# # #

William left the chapel in an electrified daze. After stopping briefly in Julia's room, he was out on the street and hailing a cab, giving the driver all his remaining coins if he would please take him directly to the Windsor Hotel as fast as the horses could move. William flew up the Hotel stairs two at a time and through the suite's door, ignoring the mess and focusing on what he needed to get. A porter brought him boxes and another hailed a carriage for him, and all three carried the items down to the carriage, stuffed them in, and then William was off again to the hospital.

Within ninety minutes, William was back by Julia's side. He was sorting a final stack of books and journals underneath the bedside lamp, with her Victrola wound and playing something jaunty in the corner, when Mlle. DuBuisson reappeared with Dr. Tash in tow.

"William! What the devil?" Isaac exclaimed. "Dr. Maharris is having a conniption fit and I heard that you were commandeering orderlies…" He stopped abruptly when he saw what William had done. All throughout the room were Julia's possessions—her sandalwood-scented feather pillow was propped behind her head and she had William's maroon scarf draped over her chest. Her hair was combed and William had placed her favourite ear-bobs in and an onyx pendant around her neck. There were three ragged yellow roses in a vase positioned exactly in her line of sight, so she would see then the minute she opened her eyes.

"Good evening Mademoiselle, Doctor," William greeted with a genuine smile. His jacket was off and he stood quickly and came over to the pair, gesturing broadly at what he had already accomplished, mildly nervous that he might have taken his idea too far. There was a chair and a reading lamp for him, and over the end of the bed was a bright quilt and a silk robe for her. "I apologize for the fuss but I needed help, setting everything up." He waited expectantly, feeling more energized and confident. _I am going to do this whether they approve or not, but I am hoping Isaac understands._

"Magnifique!" The young woman breathed, before covering her mouth in surprise.

"I quite agree." Isaac examined William's choices with approval. He thoroughly examined his patient then poked at William's room embellishments. "I no longer think she needs surgery," he pronounced.

William's face instantly brightened. "You think she is improving? I have the list of measurements right here…" He showed the clip-board to Isaac, trying not to show his eagerness.

"She is still gravely ill, William-that part has not changed." Isaac brought head up and met William face to face. William could see the compassion…and the strain in the doctor's long face. "Every hour, every day that passes where her condition stays the same and does not deteriorate, shows that it is less and less likely she is septic. The incision-site infection is responding well to treatment, so it is a matter of her own healing…that miracle we talked about. What are your plans?" He inquired, taking in the whole room set-up.

"They are simple: I am going to be here with her, talk with her, read to her, care for her until she no longer needs me to." William managed to say evenly it with all it implied—he would stay there with her until she woke up or passed away, no matter how long that was going to take.

 _But she wasn't going without a fight._

# # #

 _ **THURSDAY**_

 _ **Toronto General Hospital, Room 442**_

Throughout the day, William chose books to read, starting with the ones Julia had in progress—a novel and a rather dense psychological treatise. Every task he did he narrated for her, large or small, whether turning and positioning her, washing her with his soap because she claimed to like the scent, massaging her limbs and temples…all was accompanied by a low patter. The other patients at this end of the hall requested the door be open so they could enjoy the Victrola, so William was happy to comply. The night passed quietly with William lying next to her, always keeping a hand on her to reassure her he was there—and reassure himself she still lived by her supple warmth and pulse.

 _ **FRIDAY**_

 _ **Toronto General Hospital, Room 442**_

By Friday, William's routine was well-established enough that rather than opprobrium he was getting curious hospital staff members dropping by to have a look-see; Dr. Maharris was unhappy but, thankfully, no longer actively interfering. Medical science could keep Julia hydrated with Ringer's saline and Isaac and he were exploring an effective method for delivering nutrition directly to Julia's stomach with a series of small tubes, but 6 days since her last full meal, Julia was losing weight and substance. Eventually she would starve.

None-the-less, William was continuing his gentle presence, mixed with the sounds of music and his voice reading or talking to her as if it was two-way conversation. He'd just finished a book of poems and brought up this week's _Scientific American_. William was busy extolling the virtues of one of the articles, namely ' _The House that Turns with the Sun,_ ' when he felt something brush his hand.

"Julia! Think about this. Dr. Pellegrin and Monsieur Pettit designed a house based on heliotropic principles. The house always presents the same façade to the sun. Imagine how we could incorporate those principles in our new house? Perhaps even partially heating the house in the winters with sunlight…We can create a heat well, maybe use convection in some manner, and I can reconfigure part of the roof to…."

Something slid along his knee. When he looked down, Julia's hand was there. His breath caught in his throat. He covered her hand with his and moved his eyes up, up, up to her face. _Please God, she's awake_ , he prayed.

"William," she croaked. "I have never heard you talk so much in my entire life. Really! If I had known you were such a chatter box…"

His lips smothered her in an embrace, cutting her off. Words evaporated; he had no words for how he was feeling, for what he wanted to say. His mind was full of thoughts and he could not verbalize a single one. He looked at her intensely , and then it happened—she smiled at him, gave him that look so full of love and teasing that a circuit of pure joy closed within him, opening the floodgates:

"Julia! Julia! You are back. Dear Lord, you are back!" He felt tears flow and his cheeks burn a with a broad smile. "Oh, my dear Julia…I thought I'd lost you. You were so sick…" He ran on and on until Julia had to 'shush' him, leaving him to feast his eyes on her animated form, her blue eyes, the voice he loved…

She coughed and he helped her sit up better on the bed, but she became so woozy she slid back down. "A drink, please?"

 _Anything!_ William fetched water and held it to her parched mouth. He was so excited he nearly dropped the pitcher. "You have been unconscious for three days…" His voice was a low and intimate whisper. He needed to capture her face again, look into her eyes to know this was real and not a fantasy or dream born of wishful-thinking.

"By the way, no more changes to our house, husband. It's just an excuse to delay…" She attempted a laugh and was immediately wracked by another cough, so he held her until it subsided.

"You have been awake and listening?" he asked, kissing her forehead and taking her face in his hand.

"For a little while I guess." Julia grabbed his vest with her hand. "Is it all over? It's all a blur now. Please tell me…"

William brought her hands to his lips and kissed them tenderly again. "Yes, Julia, I promise. You were magnificent. You rescued me and Miss Pearce is dead and her co-conspirators are in jail and the case is closed," he babbled. He searched her face. "We are free. All that needs to happen now is for you to get well."

She cleared her vision and started noticing a few of the items spread around the room. She rewarded him with a happy smile. "What day is it?"

"It is Friday." His eyes widened. "You have a long way to go to get better. You have an infection and have lost a lot of blood; you are weak and will need quite a bit of time to rebuild your strength." He just kept staring at her, thinking, _She came back! She is going to make it! She is not going to leave!_ If he could have jumped up and twirled around he might have done so, heedless of his dignity.

It took a long while for him to reorient himself, the grin on his face probably making him look like a dolt, but he did not care. "I have to let Isaac know you are awake. He has been here taking care of you every day, er…we both have been working together."

Julia looked confused again and then smiled. "So, it's 'Isaac' now? I bet there is a story there…no, tell me later, because I think I just used up all my energy." She slumped back on the bed with an 'oomph' then reached her hand again to hold his, returning pressure. "If I am well enough, perhaps this year we will go to his annual New Year's party?"

The smile would not leave his face and if his chest could get any more full of love he imagined he'd explode. He leaned in and kissed her sweetly, brushing her hair back away from her eyes. He they were bright, blue, intelligent, worried perhaps, _exhausted certainly_ …everything one would expect.

He also detected something… _different_. He was no longer so naïve...this experience might have changed them. He felt it already in himself: he was no longer so certain the past was in the past. _I already have the sense of chronically looking over my shoulder, always wondering, my guard always up…_

None of that dampened his utter joy at the simple act of sharing a smile with his wife. "Ah, yes, the party… Isaac's _costume_ party. You know what happened the last time I went to one of those?" he teased. "Yes, I will go, but only if you will go as the Goddess, Artemis." He gave her a knowing look.

Julia just stared at him and then gave a sudden laugh. She held his face with her hand: "As long as you go as the stag that is sacred to me."

Their eyes met and caught, leaving them at the apogee of an emotional arc so high and gravity-defying William could have sworn he was lifted off his feet. _Anything, anything for you…_ Their embrace was as fierce as she could tolerate, with Julia eventually coming to sob in his arms as the feelings crashed down within them.

Then she put a devilish grin on her face and her eyes flashed. William's heart swelled with love and pride. _Yes!_ _This is my Julia,_ _there she is;_ _I recognize her now._

She pulled him even closer, whispering in his ear. "Husband. You did not think you were going to be rid of me that easily, did you? Just remember I can always hunt you down…."

 *****END*****

 **# # #**

 **Dear Reader…**

 **I decided Peter Mitchell did a favour to leave so many gaps in the finale for me and other writers to exploit. To the reader: Thank you so very much for coming along for the ride. Thank you for the inspiration and the time you take to read the stories—mine and everyone else's – and the favour of your comments and reviews. I sewed the POV "Miracles" vignettes together for a full story– hopefully the story reads well in the format. (Some of the bolded dialogue you will recognize was taken from various episodes.)**

 **I had lots of help, per usual with the original story—my beta readers "Dutch" and "46Her", I'dBeDelighted for research and confirming plot holes, and especially Romantic Nerd for keeping me on track and feedback on this as a whole story—she made it better, so here is her** _ **Thank you! (I also could not reisist-Fallenbell's big red-haired sweetie got a cameo)**_ **Thanks as well to all who reviewed as this posted-along—hopefully this is a better read all in one go.**

 **Please write—tell me what you think, it keeps me writing and I do take suggestions and will respond! I hope you like the way I 'filled in the holes' in the finale—tell me if you like this one better than the single ones –I was hoping for an emotional punch….**

 **Author's Note: The internet is a wonderful thing…look up November 1903 Scientific American about the "heliotropic" house, as well as the internet all about blood pressure measurement and IV's. I have tried to be sensitive to MM continuity and actual history (they are** _ **not**_ **the same!) while explaining how Julia might have survived her ordeal at a time when a paper cut could, literally, be fatal. Thank goodness for modern medicine and IV antibiotics or I myself would not be here to write these words!** _ **Here's to the start of Season 10…**_


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